












THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


Works of 

ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 


The Little Colonel Series 

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The Little Colonel’s Holidays ..... 

The Little Colonel’s Hero ...... 

The Little Colonel at Boarding-School 
The Little Colonel in Arizona . . 

The Little Colonel’s Christmas Vacation . 

The Little Colonel : Maid of Honor . . 

The Little Colonel’s Knight Comes Riding 
The Little Colonel’s Chum : Mary Ware . 

Mary Ware in Texas ....... 

Mary Ware’s Promised Land ..... 

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Two Little Knights of Kentucky 

Big Brother .... 


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The Giant Scissors ....... 

Two Little Knights of Kentucky .... 

Big Brother ........ 

Ole Mammy’s Torment ...... 

The Story of Dago 

Cicely 

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The Quilt that Jack Built ...... 

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Mildred’s Inheritance ...... 

The Little Man in Motley ..... 

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’ In the Desert of Waiting ...... 

The Three Weavers ....... 

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Asa Holmes . . . . 

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THE PAGE COMPANY 
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass. 







THE DUCK HUNT 


(See page 168) 




i 


Cbe tittle Colonel 
in Arizona 


By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

% 

Author of “ The Little Colonel Series,”" Bi£ Brother,” 
" Ole Mammy’s Torment,” “ Joel : A Boy of Galilee,” 
“Asa Holmes,” etc. 

Illustrated by ETHELDRED B. BARRY 



BOSTON * THE PAGE 
COMPANY * PUBLISHERS 



Copyright , 1904 


■> 

i 

% 



By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporated) 


All rights resented 


Nineteenth Impression, April, 1919 


' s "l 0 

V p/dce^e & 






§ 

\ 

r> 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Mary Tells All She Knows 


PAGB 

. 1 

II. 

A Robinson Crusoe of the Desert 

f. 

. 19 

III. 

A Day at School . 

• 

• 38 

IV. 

Ware’s Wigwam .... 

• 

. 56 

V. 

What a Letter Brought About 

• 

. 78 

VI. 

Wash - Day and Washington 

• 

. 94 

VII. 

A Surprise 

• 

. 1 16 

VIII. 

In the Desert of Waiting. 

• 

• 137 

IX. 

Lloyd’s Duck Hunt 

• 

. 162 

X. 

The School of the Bees . 

• 

. 179 

XI. 

The New Boarder at Lee’s Ranch 

• 

• 193 

XII. 

Phil Has a Finger in the Pie . 

• 

. 212 

XIII. 

A Change of Fortune . 

• 

. 231 

XIV. 

The Lost Turquoises . 

• 

. 253 

XV. 

Lost on the Desert • 

• 

. 272 

XVI. 

Back to Dixie • • • 

• 

• 293 











































































IP 






























































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. 










4 

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


4 

PAGE 

The Duck Hunt (See page 168) . . Frontispiece 

“ She proceeded with a joyful heart to paint 

the African lion” . . ■ . . . -51 

“‘We allee samee lak Chinamen,’ he said” . 94 

“‘I THOUGHT we’d NEVAH, NEVAH GET HEAH ! ’ ” . 1 28 

“ Enjoying every moment of the sunny after- 
noon ” 162 

“ She leaned over to offer him the little 

BASKET ” ........ 209 

“ He was holding out both forefingers ” . . 244 

“ Clattering down the road as fast as his 

feet could carry him ” 279 


/ 


THE 

LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


CHAPTER I. 

MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 

“ Joyce,” said Jack Ware, stopping beside his 
sister’s seat in the long, Western-bound train, “ I 
wish you’d go back into the observation-car, and 
make Mary stop talking. She’s telling all she knows 
to a couple of strangers.” 

“ Why don’t you do it?” asked Joyce, looking 
up from her magazine with a teasing smile. “ That 
dignified scowl of yours ought to frighten anything 
into silence.” 

“ I did try it,” confessed Jack. “ I frowned and 
shook my head at her as I passed, but all the good 
it did was to start her to talking about me. ‘ That’s 
my brother Jack/ I heard her say, and her voice 
went through the car like a fine-pointed needle. 
‘ Isn’t he big for fourteen ? He’s been wearing long 


i 


2 


THE UTILE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


trousers for nearly a year.’ They both turned to 
look at me, and everybody smiled, and I was so 
embarrassed that I fell all over myself getting out 
of sight. And it was a girl she said it to,” he con- 
tinued, wrathfully. “ A real pretty girl, about my 
age. The fellow with her is her brother, I reckon. 
They look enough alike. He’s a cadet from some 
military school. You can tell by his uniform. They 
laugh at everything that Mary says, and that makes 
her go on all the worse. So if you don’t want them 
to know all our family history, past, present, and to 
come, you’d better go back and shut up that chat- 
terbox. You know what Mary’s like when she 
gets started.” 

“ Yes, I know,” sighed Joyce, “ but I don’t dare 
move now. Norman has just fallen asleep, and 
he’s been so restless all day that I don’t want him 
to waken until mamma has had her nap.” She 
glanced down at the little six-year-old brother 
stretched out on the seat beside her with his head 
in her lap, and then across the aisle at her mother, 
lying with her white face hidden among the shawls 
and pillows. 

“ If I send for Mary to come back here, she’ll flop 
around until she wakes them both. Can’t you get 
her out on to the rear platform for awhile ? I should 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 3 

think she would enjoy riding out there on one of 
those little camp-stools. Slip one of those oranges 
into your pocket, and whisper to her to follow you 
out and guess what you have for her.” 

“ Well, I’ll try,” said Jack, dubiously, “ but I’m 
almost sure she won’t budge. It isn’t every day 
she gets an audience like that. It flatters her to 
have them laugh at everything she says, and as sure 
as I stop and speak to her she’ll say something that 
I don’t want to hear.” 

“ Oh, never mind, then,” said Joyce. “ They are 
strangers, and probably we’ll never see them again, 
so it won’t make any difference. Sit down here 
and forget about them. You can have this maga- 
zine in a minute, just as soon as I finish reading 
this half-page.” 

But Jack did mind. He could not forget the 
amused glances that the pretty girl had exchanged 
with her big brother, and after standing irresolutely 
in the aisle a moment, he strolled back to the obser- 
vation-car. Slipping into a wicker chair near the 
door, he sat waiting for Mary to look in his direc- 
tion, so that he could beckon her to come to him. 

Half the passengers had gone to sleep and for- 
gotten that they were being whirled across the great 
American Desert as fast as the limited express- 


4 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


train could carry them. Some were reading, and 
some gazing out of the windows at the monotonous 
wastes of sand. The only ones who really seemed 
to be enjoying the journey were his small sister 
and her audience of two. She sat on a footstool 
in the aisle, just in front of them, a box of candy 
in her lap, and a look of supreme satisfaction on 
her face. Two little braids of blond hair, tied with 
big bows of blue ribbon, bobbed over her shoulders 
as she talked. Jack was too far away to hear what 
she said, but his scowl deepened whenever the girl 
exchanged amused glances with her brother. 

“ This candy is almost as good as the fudge we 
used to make at home every Saturday afternoon,” 
said Mary, putting a chocolate-covered marsh- 
mallow in her mouth, and gravely running her 
tongue around her lips. “ But we’ll never again 
make any more fudge in that house.” 

“Why not, dear?” asked the girl, with encour- 
aging interest. This child was the most diverting 
thing she had found on the long journey. 

“ Oh, everything has come to an end now. Joyce 
says you can never go back when you’ve burned 
your bridges behind you. It was certainly burn- 
ing our bridges when we sold the little brown house, 
for of course we could never go back with stran- 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 


5 


gers living in it. It was almost like a funeral when 
we started to the train, and looked back for the 
last time. I cried, because there was the Christmas- 
tree standing on the porch, with the strings of pop- 
corn and cranberries on it. We put it out for the 
birds, you know, when we were done with it. When 
I saw how lonesome it looked, standing out in the 
snow, and remembered that it was the last Christ- 
mas-tree we’d ever have there, and that we didn’t 
have a home any more, why I guess anybody would 
have cried.” 

“ Why did you sell the little home if you loved 
it so? ” asked the girl. It was not from any desire 
to pry into a stranger’s affairs that she asked, but 
merely to keep the child talking. 

“ Oh, mamma was so ill. She had pneumonia, 
and there are so many blizzards in Kansas, you 
know, that the doctor said she’d never get rid of 
her cough if she stayed in Plainsville, and that maybe 
if we didn’t go to a warm place she wouldn’t live 
till spring. So Mr. Link bought the house the very 
next day, so that we could have enough money to 
go. He’s a lawyer. It used to be Link and Ware 
on the office door before papa died. He’s always 
been good to us because he was papa’s partner, and 


6 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


he gave Jack a perfectly grand gun when he found 
we were coming out among the Indians. 

“ Then the neighbours came in and helped us pack, 
and we left in a hurry. To-morrow we’ll be to 
the place where we are going, and we’ll begin to 
live in tents on New Year’s Day. You’d never 
think this was the last day of the old year, would 
you, it’s so warm. I ’spose we’ll be mixed up all 
the time now about the calendar, coming to such 
a different climate.” 

There was a pause while another marshmallow 
disappeared, then she prattled on again. “ It’s to 
Lee’s Ranch we are going, out in Arizona. It’s 
a sort of boarding-camp for sick people. Mrs. Lee 
keeps it. She’s our minister’s sister, and he wrote 
to her, and she’s going to take us cheaper than she 
does most people, because there’s so many of us. 
Joyce and Jack and Holland and Norman and 
mamma and me makes an even half-dozen. But 
we’re going to keep house as soon as our things 
come and we can get a place, and then I’ll be glad 
that Jack has his gun. He can’t shoot very well 
yet, unless it’s at something big like a stable door, 
but you always feel safer, when there’s Indians 
around, if you’ve got something to bang at them.” 

Here she lowered her voice confidentially. " Hoi- 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS J 

land scared Norman and me most to death one night. 
We were sitting on the rug in front of the fire, 
before the lamp was lighted, saying what would 
we do s’posen an Indian should come to the camp 
sometime, and try to scalp us, and just when we 
were so scared we didn’t dare look around behind 
us, he rolled out from under the bed where he’d 
been hiding, and grabbed us by the hair, with the 
awfullest whoop, that made us feel as if we’d been 
dipped in ice-water. Why, we didn’t stop yelling 
for half an hour. Norman had the nightmare that 
night. We never did find out how Joyce punished 
Holland, but what she did to him was plenty, for 
he hasn’t scared us since, not yet, though you never 
know when he’s going to. 

“ Joyce isn’t afraid of anything on earth. You 
ought to hear about the way she played ghost once, 
when she was in France. And she just talked right 
up to the old monsieur who owned the Gate of the 
Giant Scissors, and told him what she thought of 
him.” 

“ How old is this Joyce? ” asked the tall young 
fellow whom his sister called Phil. “ She sounds 
interesting, don’t you think, Elsie?” he said, lean- 
ing over to help himself to a handful of candy. 

Elsie nodded with a smile, and Mary hastened 


8 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


to give the desired information. “ Oh, she’s fifteen, 
going on sixteen, and she is interesting. She can 
paint the loveliest pictures you ever saw. She was 
going to be an artist until all this happened, and she 
had to leave school. Nobody but me knows how 
bad it made her feel to do that. I found her crying 
in the stable-loft when I went up to say good-bye 
to the black kitten, and she made me cross my heart 
and body I’d never tell, so mamma thinks that she 
doesn’t mind it at all. 

“ Things have gone wrong at our house ever since 
I had the mumps,” she began again, when she had 
slowly crunched two burnt almonds. “ Holland 
sprained his wrist and mamma nearly died with 
pneumonia and Norman upset the clothes-horse on 
the stove and burnt up a whole week’s ironing. 
And after that Jack had both ears frosted in a 
blizzard, and Bob, our darling little fox-terrier that 
Joyce brought from Kentucky, was poisoned.” 

“ That was a list of misfortunes,” exclaimed Phil, 
sympathetically, “ enough to discourage anybody.” 

“ Oh, at our house we never get discouraged to 
stay ,” answered Mary. “ Of course we feel that 
way at first, but Joyce always says * Remember the 
Vicar/ and then we stiffen.” 

“ The vicar,” echoed Phil, much puzzled. 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 


9 


“ Yes, the Vicar of Wakefield, you know. Don’t 
you remember what bad luck they all had, about 
the green spectacles and everything, and he said, 
‘ Let us be inflexible , and fortune will at last change 
in our favour ! 9 99 

“ Was there ever anything funnier! ” exclaimed 
Phil, in an aside, as this bit of wisdom was rolled 
out with such a dramatic toss of the head, that the 
big blue bows on the little blond braids bobbed 
wildly. “ The idea of a child like that reading the 
‘ Vicar of Wakefield.’ ” 

“ Oh, I didn’t read him myself,” answered Mary, 
eager to be entirely truthful. “ Joyce read it aloud 
to all the family last winter, and since then we’ve 
all tried to do as the Vicar did, be inflexible when 
troubles come. Even Norman knows that if you’ll 
swallow your sobs and stiffen when you bump your 
head, or anything, that it doesn’t hurt half so bad 
as when you just let loose and howl.” 

Jack started to his feet when he heard the laugh 
that followed, sure that Mary was saying something 
that ought to be left unsaid. He reached her just 
in time to hear her remark, “ We’re going to eat 
in the dining-car to-night. Our lunch has all given 
out, and I’m glad of it, for I never did eat in a 
dining-car, and I’ve always wanted to. We’re 


10 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


going to have ice-cream, if it doesn’t cost too 
much.” 

Jack’s face was crimson as he bent down and 
whispered in Mary’s ear, and it grew several shades 
redder as she calmly answered aloud, “No, I don’t 
want to go out on the platform. It’s blowing so 
hard, I’ll get my eyes full of sand.” 

He bent again to whisper, this time savagely, and 
then turned back toward the other car, not waiting 
for her answer. But it followed him shrilly in 
an indignant tone : “ It’s no such a thing, Jack 
Ware! I’m not telling all I know.” 

A few minutes later a freckle-faced boy of twelve 
appeared in the door, looking up and down the car 
with keen gray eyes. The moment his glance fell 
on Mary, he started down the aisle toward her 
with such an air of determination that she started 
up in dismay. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” she exclaimed. “There’s Holland 
beckoning for me. Now I’ve got to go.” 

“ Why should you go for him rather than Jack? ” 
asked Phil. “ He isn’t nearly so big.” 

“ You don’t know Holland,” said Mary, taking 
a step forward. “ He doesn’t mind making a scene 
anywhere we happen to be. If he was told to bring 
me, he’d do it, if he had to drag me down the aisle 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS II 

by my hair. Good-bye. I’ve had a mighty nice 
time, and I’m much obliged for the candy.” 

The Ware family were already seated in the din- 
ing-room when Phil and Elsie went in to dinner 
a little later. Mary, over her soup, was giving an 
enthusiastic account of her new acquaintances. 
“ They’re going to their grandfather’s in Cali- 
fornia,” she said. “ It’s the most beautiful place 
you ever heard of, with goldfish in the fountain, and 
Gold of Ophir roses in the garden, and Dago, their 
Did pet monkey, is there. They had to send him 
away from home because he got into so much mis- 
chief. And Miss Elsie Tremont, that’s her name, 
is all in black because her Great-Aunt Patricia is 
dead. Her Aunt Patricia kept house for them, but 
now they live at their grandfather’s. Mr. Phil is 
only seventeen, but he’s six feet tall, and looks so 
old that I thought maybe he was thirty.” 

“ Gracious, Mary, how did you find out so 
much? ” asked Joyce, with a warning shake of the 
head at Norman, who was crumbling his bread into 
his soup. 

“ Oh, I asked him if he was married, and he 
laughed, and said he was only seventeen, just a 
schoolboy, a cadet in a military academy out in 
California. There they are now ! ” she added, ex- 


12 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


citedly, as the waiter pulled out two chairs at the 
little table across the aisle. 

Both the newcomers smiled at Mary, who beamed 
broadly in response. Then they gave a quick side- 
glance at the rest of the family. “ What a sweet- 
looking woman the little mother is,” said Elsie, in 
a low tone, “ and Joyce is interesting, but I wouldn’t 
say she is exactly pretty, would you ? ” 

“ Um, I don’t know,” answered Phil, after an- 
other politely careless glance in her direction. “ She 
has a face you like to keep looking at. It’s so bright 
and pleasant, and her eyes are lovely. She’d be 
jolly good company, I imagine, a sort of a surprise- 
party, always doing and saying unusual things.” 

In the same casual way, Joyce was taking note 
of them. She felt strongly drawn toward the pretty 
girl in black, and wished that they were going to 
the same place, so that she might make her ac- 
quaintance. Once when they were all laughing 
at something Norman said, she looked up and 
caught her eye, and they both smiled. Then Phil 
looked across with such an understanding gleam 
of humour in his eyes that she almost smiled at 
him, but checked herself, and looked down in her 
plate, remembering that the handsome cadet was 
a stranger. 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 1 3 

The train stopped at a junction just as Mary 
finished her ice-cream, which she had been eating 
as slowly as possible, in order to prolong the pleas- 
ure. Finding that there would be a wait of nearly 
half an hour, Joyce persuaded her mother to go 
back to the rear platform of the observation-car, 
and sit out awhile, in the fresh air. Although the 
sun was down, it was so warm that Mrs. Ware 
scarcely needed the shawl Joyce drew around her 
shoulders. 

“ I can’t believe that this is the last day of 
December,” she said to Mary, as Joyce hurried into 
the station to make some inquiry of the ticket-agent. 
“ The last day of the old year,” she added. “ These 
electric-lights and the band playing over there in 
the park, and all the passengers promenading up 
and down in front of the station, bareheaded, make 
it seem like a summer resort.” 

Mary peered after the promenading passengers 
wistfully. The boys had disappeared to watch the 
engine take water, and there was no one for her 
to walk with. Just then, Phil and Elsie Tremont, 
sauntering along, caught sight of her wistful little 
face. 

“ Don’t you want to come too ? ” asked Elsie, 
pausing. “ You’ll sleep better for a little exercise.” 


»4 


THE L TI TLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


“ O'h, yes! ” was the delighted reply. “ May I, 
mamma? It’s Miss Elsie Tremont, that I told you 
about, that ran away with a monkey and a music- 
box when she was a little bit of a girl.” 

“ I’m afraid that with such an introduction you’ll 
think I’m not a proper person to trust your daugh- 
ter with, Mrs. Ware,” said Elsie, laughing, “ but 
I assure you I’ll never run away again. That ex- 
perience quite cured me.” 

“ Probably Mary has given you just as alarming 
an impression of us,” answered Mrs. Ware. “ She 
has never learned to regard any one as a stranger, 
and all the world is her friend to confide in.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like to walk a little while, too ? ” 
asked Elsie, stirred by some faint memory of a 
delicate white face like this one, that years ago used 
to smile out at her from a hammock in the Gold 
of Ophir rose garden. She was only five years old 
the last time she saw her mother, but the dim mem- 
ory was a very sweet one. 

“ Yes, come! It will do you good,” urged Phil, 
cordially, influenced partly by the same memory, 
and partly by the thought that here was a chance 
to make the acquaintance of Joyce as well. Accord- 
ing to her little sister she was an unusually interest- 


MARY TELLS ALL SJLE KNOWS 1 5 

in g girl, and the glimpse he had had of her himself 
confirmed that opinion. 

So it happened to Joyce’s great astonishment, as 
she hurried back to the train, she met her mother 
walking slowly along beside Elsie. Phil, with Mary 
chattering to him like an amusing little magpie, 
was just behind them. Almost before she knew 
how it came about, she was walking with them, 
listening first to Elsie, then to Phil, as they told 
of the boarding-school she was going back to in 
California, and the Military Academy in which he 
was a cadet. They had been back home to spend 
the Christmas vacation with their father, whom they 
did not expect to see again for a long time. Ke 
was a physician, and now on his way to Berlin, 
where he expected to spend a year or two in scien- 
tific research. 

At the warning call of all aboard, they hurried 
back to the car just as the boys came scrambling 
up the steps. Acquaintances grow almost as rapidly 
on these long overland journeys across the conti- 
nent as they do on shipboard. The girls regretted 
the fact that they had not found each other earlier, 
but Jack and Phil soon made up for lost time. Phil, 
who had hunted wild goats among the rocks of 
Catalina Island, and Jack, who expected unlimited 


1 6 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZOAA 

shooting of quail and ducks at Lee’s Ranch, were 
not long in exchanging invitations for future hunt- 
ing together, if either should happen to stray into 
the other’s vicinity. 

“ I feel as if I had known you always,” said Elsie 
to Joyce, as they separated, regretfully, at bedtime, 
wondering if they ever would meet again. “ I wish 
you were going to the boarding-school with me.” 

“ I wish you were going to stop in Arizona,” 
answered Joyce. “ Maybe you can come out to 
the ranch sometime, when you are on your way 
back East.” 

“ I think that we ought to all sit up together to 
see the old year out and the new year in,” protested 
Mary, indignant at being hurried off to bed at half- 
past seven. 

“ You’ll see the change all right,” remarked Jack, 
“ and you’ll have a chance to make a night of it. We 
have to get off at Maricopa a little after midnight, 
and there’s no telling when that train for Phoenix 
will come along. They say it’s always behind time.” 

Late that night, Elsie, wakened by the stopping 
of the train, looked at her watch. The new year 
had just dawned. A brakeman went through the 
car with a lantern. There were strange voices out- 
side, a confusion of calls, and the curtains of her 


MARY TELLS ALL SHE KNOWS 1 7 

berth swayed and shook as a number of people hur- 
ried down the aisle, laden with baggage. Somebody 
tripped over a pair of shoes, left too far out in the 
aisle, and somebody muttered a complaint about 
always being wakened at Maricopa by people who 
had no more consideration for the travelling public 
than to make their changes in the dead of night. 

“ Maricopa,” she thought, starting up on her 
elbow. “ That is where the Wares are to get off.” 
Raising the window-shade, she peered out into the 
night. Yes, there they were, just going into the 
station. Jack and Holland weighted down with 
baggage, Joyce helping the sweet-faced little mother 
with one hand, and dragging the drowsy Norman 
after her with the other, Mary sleepily bringing 
jp the rear with her hat tipped over one eye, and 
ner shoe-strings tripping her at every step. 

“ Bless her little soul, she’s the funniest, fattest 
little chatterbox of a girl I ever saw,” thought 
Elsie, as she watched her stumble into the station. 
“ Good-bye, little vicar,” she whispered, waving 
her hand. “ May you always keep inflexible.” I 
wonder if I’ll ever see any of them again. I wish 
I were in a big family like that. They do have such 
good times together.” 

As the train pulled slowly out and went thunder- 


1 8 THE LIT TI E COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

ing on into the darkness, she tried to go to sleep 
again, but fefr a long time, whenever she closed her 
eyes, she saw the little house in Kansas that Mary 
had described so vividly. There it stood, empty 
and deserted in the snow, with the pathetic little 
Christmas-tree, left for the birds. And far away, 
the family who loved it so dearly were facing 
blithely and bravely the untried New Year, in which 
they were to make for themselves another home, 
somewhere out on the lonely desert. 

“ Oh, I do hope they’ll keep ‘ inflexible,’ ” was 
Elsie’s last waking thought. “ I do hope they’ll have 
a happy New Year.” 


CHAPTER II. 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 

Joyce stood in the door of the little adobe house, 
and looked out across the desert with tears in her 
eyes. If this was to be their home through all the 
dreary years that stretched ahead of them, it hardly 
seemed worth while to go on living. 

Jack, in the bare unfurnished room behind her, 
was noisily wielding a hatchet, opening the boxes 
and barrels of household goods which had followed 
them by freight. He did not know which one held 
his gun, but he was determined to find it before 
the sun went down. 

For nearly three weeks they had been at Lee’s 
Ranch, half a mile farther down the road, waiting 
for the goods to come, and to find a place where 
they could set up a home of their own. Boarding 
for a family of six was far too expensive to be 
afforded long. Now the boxes had arrived, and they 
had found a place, the only one for rent anywhere 

S9 


20 


THE LITTLE COLONEL. IN ARIZONA 


near the ranch. Joyce felt sick at heart as she 
looked around her. 

“ Here it is at last,” called Jack, triumphantly, 
dropping the hatchet and throwing pillows and 
bedding out of the box in reckless haste to reach 
his most cherished possession, the fine hammerless 
shotgun which Mr. Link had given him Christmas. 
He had intended to carry it with him on the jour- 
ney, in its carved leather case, but in the confusion 
of the hurried packing, s®me well-meaning neigh- 
bour had nailed it up in one of the boxes while he 
was absent, and there had been no time to rescue 
it. He had worried about it ever since. 

“ Oh, you beauty ! ” he exclaimed, rubbing his 
hand along the polished stock as he drew it from 
the case. Sitting on the floor tailor-fashion, he 
began whistling cheerfully as he fitted the parts 
together. 

“ Joyce,” he called, peering down the barrels 
to see if any speck of rust had gathered in them, 
“ do you suppose we brought any machine-oil with 
us? I’ll uncrate the sewing-machine if you think 
that the can is likely to be in one of the drawers.” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Joyce, in such a hope- 
less tone that Jack lowered his gun-barrels and 
stared at her in astonishment. Her back was 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 21 


toward him, but her voice certainly sounded choked 
with tears. It was so unusual for Joyce to cry that 
he felt that something very serious must be the 
cause. 

“ What’s the matter, sister? ” he inquired. “ You 
aren’t sick, are you ? ” 

“ Yes ! ” she exclaimed, with a sob, turning and 
throwing herself down on the pile of pillows he 
had just unpacked. “ I’m sick of everything in this 
awful country! I’m sick of the desert, and of see- 
ing nothing but invalids and sand and cactus and 
jack-rabbits wherever I go. And I’m sick of the 
prospect of living in this little hole of a mud-house, 
and working like a squaw, and never doing anything 
or being anything worth while. If I thought I had 
to go on all my life this way, I’d want to die right 
now ! ” 

Jack viewed her uneasily. “ Goodness, Joyce ! 
I never knew you to go all to pieces this way before. 
You’ve always been the one to preach to us when 
things went wrong, that if we’d be inflexible that 
fortune would at last change in our favour.” 

“ Inflexible fiddlesticks ! ” stormed Joyce from 
the depths of a bolster, where she had hidden her 
face. “ I’ve been holding out against fate so long 


22 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


that I can’t do it any more, and I’m going to give 
up, right here and now ! ” 

“ Then I don’t know what will become of the 
rest of us,” answered Jack, raising his empty gun 
to aim at a butcher-bird in the fig-tree outside the 
door. “ It’s you that has always kept things cheer- 
ful when we were down in the mouth.” 

Joyce sat up and wiped her eyes. “ I think that 
ft must be that old cartiel-back mountain out there 
that makes me feel so hopeless. It is so depressing 
to see it kneeling there in the sand, day after day, 
like a poor old broken-down beast of burden, una- 
ble to move another step. It is just like us. Fate 
is too much for it.” 

Jack’s glance followed hers through the open 
door Straight and level, the desert stretched away 
toward the horizon, where a circle of mountains 
seemed to rise abruptly from the sands, and shut 
them in. There was Squaw’s Peak on the left, 
cold and steely blue, and over on the right the bare 
buttes, like mounds of red ore, and just in front 
was the mountain they must face every time they 
looked from the door. Some strange freak of 
nature had given it the form of a giant camel, five 
miles long. There it knelt in the sand, with patient 
outstretched neck, and such an appearance of hope- 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 23 

less resignation to its lot, that Joyce was not the 
only one who found it depressing. More than one 
invalid, sent to the surrounding ranches for the life- 
giving atmosphere of Arizona, had turned his back 
on it with a shiver of premonition, saying, “ It’s 
just like me! Broken-down, and left to die on the 
desert. Neither of us will ever get away.” 

It made no difference to Jack what shape the 
mountains took. He could not understand Joyce’s 
sensitiveness to her surroundings. But it made 
him uncomfortable to see her so despondent. He 
sat hugging his gun in silence a moment, not know- 
ing how to answer her, and then began idly aiming 
it first in one direction, then another. Presently 
his glance happened to rest upon a battered book 
that had fallen from one of the boxes. He drew 
it toward him with his foot. It was open at a 
familiar picture, and on the opposite page was a 
paragraph which he had read so many times, that 
he could almost repeat it from memory. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed. “ Here’s an old friend 
who was in as bad a fix as we are, Joyce, and he 
lived through it.” 

Leaning over, without picking up the book from 
the floor, he began reading from the page, printed 
in the large type of a child’s picture-book : 


24 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


“ ‘ September 30, 1609. I, poor, miserable Robin- 
son Crusoe, being shipwrecked during a dreadful 
storm in the offing, came on shore this dismal, un- 
fortunate island, which I called the Island of De- 
spair, all the rest of the ship’s company being 
drowned, and myself almost dead. All the rest 
of the day I spent in afflicting myself at the dismal 
circumstances I was brought to, viz., I had neither 
house, clothes, weapons, nor place to fly to, and ir 
despair of any relief saw nothing but death before 
me, either that I should be devoured by wild beasts, 
murdered by savages, or starved to death for want 
of food.’ ” 

A long pause followed. Then Joyce sat up, look- 
ing teased, and held out her hand for the book. 
“ I don’t mind old Crusoe’s preaching me a sermon,” 
she said, as she turned the tattered leaves. “ Now 
he’s done it, I’ll quit ‘ afflicting myself at the dismal 
circumstances I was brought to.’ I’ve wished a 
thousand times, when I was smaller, that I could 
have been in his place, and had all his interesting 
adventures. And to think, here we are at last, in 
almost as bad a plight as he was. Only we have 
a weapon,” she added, with a mischievous glance 
at the gun Jack was holding. 

“ And that means food, too,” he answered, 


A ROEINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 25 

proudly, “ for I expect, to kill many a quail and duck 
with this.” 

“ Oh, we’re better off than Crusoe in a thousand 
ways, I suppose, if we’d only stop to count our 
blessings,” she answered, now ready to take a more 
cheerful view of life since she had had her little 
outburst of rebellion. “ He didn’t have a Chinaman 
driving by with fresh vegetables twice a week, as 
we will have, and we have clothes, and a house, 
such as it is, and a place to fly to, for Lee’s Ranch 
will always be open to us if we need a refuge.” 

“ So we can start at the place where Crusoe was 
when he really began to enjoy his Island of De- 
spair,” said Jack. “ Shall I go on unpacking these 
things? I stopped when you announced that you 
were going to give up and die, for I thought there 
wouldn’t be any use trying to do anything, with 
you in the dumps like that.” 

Joyce looked around the dingy room. “ It’s not 
worth while to unpack till the place has been 
scrubbed from top to bottom. If we’re going to 
make a home of it, we’ll have to begin right. The 
landlord won’t do anything, and we could hardly 
expect him to, considering the small amount of rent 
we pay, but I don’t see how we can live in it with- 
out fresh paper and paint.” 


26 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ I wish we’d find a ship cast up on the sands 
of the desert to-morrow,” said Jack, “ that would 
have all sorts of supplies and tools in it. The ship- 
wrecks helped old Robinson out amazingly. I’d 
make a bookcase if we did, and put up shelves and 
all sorts of things. This would be a fine place to 
show what I learned in the manual training-school. 
We need benches and rustic seats out under those 
umbrella-trees.” 

“ We’ll have to buy some tools,” said Joyce. 
“ Let’s make out a list of things we need, and go 
to town early in the morning. Mrs. Lee said we 
could borrow Bogus and the surrey to-morrow.” 

“ All right,” assented Jack, ready for anything 
that promised change. 

“ And Jack!” she exclaimed, after a long slow 
survey of the room, “ let’s paint and paper this 
place ourselves! I’m sure we can do it. There’s 
a tape measure in one of the machine drawers. Sup- 
pose you get it out and measure the room, so we’ll 
know how much paper to buy.” 

Joyce was her old brave, cheery self again now, 
giving orders like a major-general, and throwing 
herself into the work at hand with contagious en- 
thusiasm. With the stub of a pencil Jack found 
in his pocket, she began making a memorandum 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 2 7 

on the fly-leaf of Robinson Crusoe. “ Paint, tur- 
pentine, brushes, screws, nails, saw, mop, broom, 
scrubbing-brush, soap,” she wrote rapidly. 

“ And a hatchet,” added Jack. “ This one be- 
longs to the Mexican at the ranch. And, oh, yes, 
an axe. He says that Holland and I can get all the 
wood we need right here on the desert, without 
its costing us a cent, if we’re willing to chop it; 
mesquite roots, you know, and greasewood.” 

“ It’s fortunate we can get something without 
paying for it,” commented Joyce, as she added an 
axe to the list. Then she sat studying the possi- 
bilities of the room, while Jack knocked the crate 
from the machine, found the tape measure, and did 
a sum in arithmetic to find the amount of paper 
it would take to cover the walls. 

“ I can see just how it is going to look when we 
are all through,” she said, presently. “ When this 
old dark woodwork is painted white, and these dis- 
mal walls are covered with fresh light paper, and 
there are clean, airy curtains at the windows, it 
won’t seem like the same place. Mamma mustn’t 
see it till it is all in order.” 

Exhausted by the journey, Mrs. Ware had been 
too weak to worry over their future, or even to 


28 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

wonder what would become of them, and had 
handed over the little bank-book to Joyce. 

“ Make it go just as far as it will, dear,” she said. 
“ You are too young to have such a load laid on 
your shoulders, but I see no other way now.” Joyce 
had taken up the burden of responsibility so bravely 
that no one but Jack knew of her moments of dis- 
couragement, and he was forgetting her recent 
tears in her present enthusiasm. 

“ Oh, I wish it was to-morrow,” she exclaimed, 
“ and we had all our supplies bought so that we 
could begin.” 

“ So do I,” answered Jack. “ But it’s nearly 
sundown now, and the supper-bell will be ringing 
before we get back to the ranch, if we don’t start 
soon.” 

“ Well, lock the doors, and we’ll go,” said Joyce, 
beginning to pin on her hat. 

“ Oh, what’s the use of being so particular ! Mrs. 
Lee says everybody is honest out in this country. 
They never turn a key on the ranch, and they’ve 
never had anything taken either by Mexicans or 
Indians in all the years they’ve lived here. It isn’t 
half as wild as I hoped it would be. I wish I could 
have been a pioneer, and had some of the exciting 
times they had.” 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 29 

Nevertheless, Jack barred the back door and 
locked the front one, before following Joyce across 
the yard, and over the little bridge spanning the 
irrigating canal, into the public road. They stood 
there a moment, looking back at the house, just one 
big square adobe room, with a shed-kitchen in the 
rear. Around three sides of it ran a rough sort 
of porch or shack, built of cottonwood posts, sup- 
porting a thatch of bamboo-stalks and palm-leaves. 
While it would afford a fine shelter from the sun 
in the tropical summer awaiting them, it was a 
homely, primitive-looking affair, almost as rough 
in its appearance as if Robinson Crusoe himself 
had built it. 

“ It’s hopeless, isn’t it ! ” said Joyce, with a 
despairing shake of the head. “No matter how 
homelike we may make it inside, it will always 
be the picture of desolation outside.” 

“ Not when the leaves come out on that row of 
umbrella-trees,” answered Jack. “ Mrs. Lee says 
they will be so green and bushy that they will al- 
most hide the house, and the blossoms on them in 
the spring are as purple and sweet as lilacs. Then 
this row of fig-trees along the road, and the clump 
of cottonwoods back of the house, and those two 
big pepper-trees by the gate will make it cool and 


30 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

shady here, no matter how scorching hot the desert 
may be. We’ll have to give them lots of water. 
Oh, that reminds me, I'll have to have a pair of 
rubber boots, if I am to do the irrigating. The 
water will be in again day after to-morrow.” 

Joyce groaned as she opened the book she was 
carrying, and added boots to the long list on the 
fly-leaf. “ What a lot it’s going to take to get us 
started. Crusoe certainly had reason to be thank- 
ful for the shipwrecked stores he found.’’ 

“ But it’ll cost less to get the boots than to hire 
a Mexican every eight days to do the irrigating,” 
said Jack. 

Following the road beside the canal, they walked 
along in the last rays of the sunset, toward the 
ranch. Birds twittered now and then in the fig-trees 
on their right, or a string of , cows went lowing 
homeward through the green alfalfa pastures, to 
the milking. The road and canal seemed to run be- 
tween two worlds, for on the left it was all a dreary 
desert, the barren sands stretching away toward the 
red buttes and old Camelback Mountain, as wild 
and cheerless as when the Indians held possession. 
Some day it too would “ rejoice and blossom like 
the rose,” but not until a network of waterways 
dug across it brought it new life. 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 3 1 

Once as they walked along, a jack-rabbit crossed 
their path and went bounding away in a fright. A 
covey of quail rose with a loud whirr of wings from 
a clump of bushes beside, the road, but they met no 
human being until Holland and Mary, just from 
school, came racing out from the ranch to meet them 
with eager questions about the new home. 

Chris, the Mexican, had made the round of the 
tents, building a little fire of mesquite wood in each 
tiny drum stove, for in February the air of the desert 
grows icy as soon as the sun disappears. Mrs. Ware 
was sitting in a rocking-chair between the stove and 
table, on which stood a lamp with a yellow shade, 
sending a cheerful glow all over the tent. Joyce 
took the remaining chair, Jack sat on the wood-box, 
and Mary, Norman and Holland piled upon the bed, 
to take part in the family conclave. The canvas 
curtain had been dropped over the screen-door, and 
the bright Indian rugs on the floor gave a touch of 
warmth and cosiness to the tent that made it seem 
wonderfully bright and homelike. 

“ I don’t see,” said Mary, when she had listened 
to a description of the place, “ how we are all going 
to eat and sleep and live in one room and a kitchen. 
It takes three tents to hold us all here, besides having 
the ranch dining-room to eat in. What if Eugenia 


32 T'HE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Forbes should come from the Waldorf-Astoria to 
visit us, or the Little Colonel, or some of the 
other girls from Kentucky, that you knew at the 
house-party, Joyce? Where would they sleep?” 

“ Yes,” chimed in Holland, teasingly, “ or the 
Queen of Sheba ? Suppose she should come with all 
her train. It’s about as likely. We would have to 
play ‘ Pussy wants a corner ’ all night, Mary, and 
whoever happened to be ‘ it ’ would have to sit up 
until he happened to find somebody out of his cor- 
ner.” 

“ Goosey ! ” exclaimed Mary, sticking out her 
tongue at him and making the worst face she could 
screw up. “ Honestly, what would we do, Joyce? ” 

“ We’re not going to try to live in just one 
room,” explained Joyce. “ The doctor said mamma 
ought to sleep in a tent, so we’ll get a big double one 
like this, wainscoted up high, with floor and screen- 
door, just like this. Mamma and you and I can 
use that, and the boys will have just an ordinary 
camping-tent, without door or floor. They have 
been so wild to be pioneers that they will be glad 
to come as near to it as possible, and that means 
living without extra comforts and conveniences. 
In the house one corner of the room will be the 
library, where we’ll put papa’s desk, and one corner 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OR THE DESERT 33 

will be the sewing-room, where we’H/jave the 
machine, and one will be a cosy corner, with the 
big lounge and lots of pillows. If the Queen of 
Sheba or the Little Colonel should do such an im- 
probable thing as to stray out here, we’ll have a place 
for them. ,, 

“ There goes the supper-bell,” cried Norman, 
scrambling down from the bed in hot haste to beat 
Mary to the table. Joyce waited to turn down the 
lamp, close the stove draughts, and bring her 
mother’s shawl, before following them. 

“ How bright the camp looks with a light in 
every tent,” she said, as they stepped out under the 
stars. “ They look like the transparencies in the 
torchlight processions, that we used to have back 
in Plainsville.” 

Mrs. Ware’s tent was in the front row, so it wa3 
only a step to the door of the dining-room in the 
ranch house. The long table was nearly filled when 
they took their seats. Gathered around it were peo- 
ple who had drifted there from all parts of the world 
in search of lost health. A Boston law-student, a 
Wyoming cowboy, a Canadian minister, a Scotch- 
man from Inverness, and a jolly Irish lad from 
Belfast were among the number. 

The most interesting one to Joyce was an old 


34 7 / LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Norwegio who sat opposite her, by the name of 
Jan Ellestad. Not old in years, for his hair wa£ 
still untouched by gray, and his dark eyes flashed 
at times with the spirit of the old vikings, when 
he told the folk-lore of his fatherland. But he was 
old in sad experiences, and broken health, and 
broken hopes. The faint trace of a foreign accent 
that clung to his speech made everything he said 
seem interesting to Joyce, and after Mrs. Lee had 
told her something of his history, she looked upon 
him as a hero. This was the third winter he had 
come back to the ranch. He knew he could not 
live through another year, and he had stopped mak- 
ing plans for himself, but he listened with unfail- 
ing cheerfulness to other people’s. Now he looked 
up expectantly as Joyce took her seat. 

“ I can see by your face, Miss Joyce,” he said, 
in his slow, hesitating way, as if groping for the 
right words, “ that you are about to plunge this 
ranch into another wild excitement. What is it 
now, please ? ” 

“ Guess ! ” said Joyce, glancing around the table. 
“ Everybody can have one guess.” 

During the three weeks that the Wares had been 
on the ranch they had made many friends among 
the boarders. Most of them could do little but sit 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT 35 

in the sun and wait for the winter to creep by, so 
they welcomed anything that relieved the monot- 
ony of the long idle days. Mary’s unexpected 
remarks gave fresh zest to the conversation. The 
boys, bubbling over with energy and high spirits, 
were a constant source of entertainment, and Joyce’s 
enthusiasms were contagious. She was constantly 
coming in from the desert with some strange dis- 
covery to arouse the interest of the listless little 
company. 

Now, as her challenge passed around the table, 
any one hearing her laugh at the amusing replies 
would not have dreamed that only a few hours 
before she was sobbing to Jack that she was sick 
of seeing nothing but invalids and sand and cactus. 

“ We haven’t any name for our new home,” she 
announced, “ and I’m thinking of having a name 
contest. Any one can offer an unlimited number, 
and the best shall receive a prize.” 

“ Then I’ll win,” responded the Scotchman, 
promptly. “ There’s nae mair appropriate name 
for a wee bit lodging-place like that, than Bide-a- 
wee” 

“ That is pretty,” said Joyce, repeating it thought- 
fully. “ I love the old song by that name, but I’m 
afraid that it isn’t exactly appropriate. You see, 


j v THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

we may have to bide there for years and years 
instead of just a wee.” 

“ Give it a Spanish name,” said the minister. 

Alamo means cottonwood, and you have a group 
of cottonwoods there. That would be just as good 
as naming it The Pines, or The Oaks, or The 
Beeches.” 

“ No, call it something Indian,” said the cow- 
boy. “ Something that means little-mud-house-in- 
the-desert, yet has a high-sounding swing to the 
syllables.” 

“ Wait till we get through fixing it,” interrupted 
Jack. “ It’ll look so fine that you won’t dare call 
it little-mud-house-in-the-desert. We’re going to 
paint and paper it ourselves.” 

“ Not you two children,” exclaimed the Norwe- 
gian, in surprise. 

“ With our own lily fingers,” answered Joyce. 

“ Then you’ll have an interested audience,” he 
answered. “ You’ll find all of us who are able to 
walk perching in the fig-trees outside your door 
every morning, waiting for the performance to 
begin.” 

“ Whoever perches there will have to descend 
and help, won’t they, Jack?” said Joyce, saucily. 

“ Oh, mamma,” whispered Mary, “ is Mr. Elle* 


A ROBINSON CRUSOE OF THE DESERT T>7 

stad really going to climb up in the fig-tree and 
watch them? Please let me stay home from school 
and help. I know I can’t study if I go, for I’ll be 
thinking of all the fun I’m missing.” 


CHAPTER III. 


A DAY AT SCHOOL. 

It was with a most unwilling mind and an un- 
happy heart that Mary began her third week at 
school. In the first place she could not bear to 
tear herself away from all that was going on at 
the new house. She wanted to have a hand in the 
dear delights of home-making. She wanted to 
poke the camp-fire, and dabble in the paste, and 
watch the walls grow fresh and clean as the paper 
spread over the old patches. The smell of the fresh 
paint drew her, and gave her a feeling that there 
were all sorts of delightful possibilities in this 
region, yet unexplored. 

In the second place, life in the new school was 
a grievous burden, because the boys, seeing how 
easily she was teased, found their chief pleasure in 
annoying her. She was a trusting little soul, ready 
to nibble the bait that any trap offered. 

“ Never mind ! You’ll get used to it after awhile,” 
her mother said, consolingly, each evening when 
38 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 


39 


she came home with a list of fresh woes. “ You’re 
tired now from that long walk home. Things will 
seem better after supper.” And Joyce would add, 

Don t look so doleful, Mother Bunch; just remem- 
ber the vicar, and keep inflexible. Fortune is bound 
to change in your favour after awhile.” But the 
third Friday found her as unhappy as the third 
Monday. 

There were two rooms in the school building, 
one containing all the primary classes, the other 
the grammar grades, where Holland found a place. 
Mary had one of the back seats in the primary 
department, and one of the highest hooks in the 
cloak-room, on which to hang her belongings. But 
this Friday morning she did not leave her lunch- 
basket in either place. 

She and Patty Ritter, the little girl who sat across 
the aisle from her, had had an indignation-meeting 
the day before, and agreed to hide their baskets in 
a hedgerow, so that there could be no possibility 
of Wig Smith’s finding them. Salt on one’s jelly 
cake and pepper in one’s apple-pie two days in suc- 
cession is a little too much to be borne calmly. Wig 
Smith’s fondness for seasoning other people’s 
lunches was only one of his many obnoxious traits. 

“ There,” said Mary, scanning the horizon anx- 


40 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

iously, to see that no prowling boy was in sight. 
“ Nobody would think of looking behind that 
prickly cactus for a lunch-basket! We're sure of 
not going hungry to-day ! ” 

With their arms around each other, they strolled 
back to the schoolhouse, taking a roundabout way, 
with great cunning, to throw Wig Smith off the 
track, in case he should be watching. But their 
precautions were needless this time. Wig had set 
up a dentist's establishment on the steps of the stile, 
his stock in trade being a pocket-knife and a hat 
full of raw turnips. Nothing could have been 
friendlier than the way he greeted Mary and Patty, 
insisting that they each needed a set of false teeth. 
Half a dozen of his friends had already been fitted 
out, and stood around, grinning, in order to show 
the big white turnip teeth he had fitted over the 
set provided by Nature. As the teeth were cut in 
irregular shapes, wide square-tipped ones alternat- 
ing with long pointed fangs, and the upper lip had 
to be drawn tightly to hold them in place, the effect 
was so comical that they could hardly hold the new 
sets in position for laughing at each other. 

In payment for his work, Wig accepted almost 
anything that his customers had to offer: marbles, 
when he could get them, pencils, apples, fish-hooks, 


A BAY AT SCHOOL 


41 


even a roll of tin-foil, saved from many chewing- 
gum packages, which was all one girl had to trade. 

A search through Mary’s orderly pencil-box failed 
to show anything that he wanted of hers, but the 
neatly prepared home lesson which fluttered out 
of her arithmetic caught his eye. He agreed to 
make her the teeth for a copy of six problems which 
he could not solve. Mary had much the hardest 
part of the bargain, for, sitting on the stile, she 
patiently copied long-division sums until the second 
bell rang, while he turned off the teeth with a few 
masterful strokes of his knife. 

“ Let’s all put them in as soon as we’re done sing- 
ing, and wear them till we recite spelling,” he sug- 
gested. “ It’s mighty hard to keep from chawin’ 
on ’em after they’ve been in your mouth awhile. 
Let’s see who can, keep them in longest. Every 
five minutes by the clock, if the teacher isn’t lookin’, 
we’ll all grin at onct to show that they’re still in.” 

Needless to say, the usual Friday morning studi- 
ousness did not prevail in the primary room that 
morning. Too many eyes were watching the clock 
for the moment of display to arrive, and when it 
did arrive, the coughing and choking that was set 
up to hide the titters, plainly told the teacher that 
some mischief was afoot. If she could have turned 


42 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in time to see the distorted faces, she must have 
laughed too, it was such a comical sight, but she 
was trying to explain to a row of stupid little 
mathematicians the mysteries of borrowing in sub- 
traction, and always looked up a moment too late. 

Mary Ware, having written every word of her 
spelling lesson from memory, and compared it with 
her book to be sure that she knew it, now had a 
quarter of an hour of leisure. This she devoted 
to putting her desk in order. The books were dusted 
and piled in neat rows. Everything in her pencil- 
box was examined, and laid back with care, the 
slate-rag folded and tucked under the moist sponge. 
There was another box in her desk. It had bunches 
of violets on it and strips of lace-paper lining the 
sides. It smelled faintly of the violet soap it had 
once held. She kept several conveniences in this, 
pins, and an extra hair-ribbon in case of loss, a 
comb, and a little round mirror with a celluloid 
back, on which was printed the advertisement of a 
Plainsville druggist. 

As she polished the little mirror, the temptation 
to use it was too great to resist. Holding it under 
the desk, she stretched her lips back as far as possi- 
ble in a grotesque grin, to show her set of turnip 
teetH. They looked so funny that she tried it again 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 


43 


with variations, rolling her eyes and wrinkling her 
nose. So absorbed was she that she did not realize 
that a silence had fallen in the room, that the reci- 
tation had stopped and all eyes were turned upon 
her. Then her own name, spoken in a stern tone, 
startled her so that she bounced in her seat and 
dropped the mirror. 

“ Why, Mary Ware! I’m astonished! Come 
here! ” 

Blushing and embarrassed at being called into 
public notice, Mary stumbled up to the platform, 
and submitted to an examination of her mouth. 
Then, following orders, she went to the door, and 
with much sputtering spat the teeth out into the 
yard. 

“ I’ll see you about this after school,” remarked 
the teacher, sternly, as she stumbled back to her 
seat, overcome by mortification. 

If the teacher had not been so busy watching 
Mary obey orders, she would have noticed a rapid 
moving of many jaws along the back row of seats, 
and a mighty gulping and swallowing, as the other 
sets of teeth disappeared down the throats of their 
owners. 

“ So this has been the cause of so much dis- 
turbance this morning,” she remarked, crossly. 


44 the little colonel in Arizona 

“ I’m astonished that one of the quietest pupils in 
the school should have behaved in such a manner.” 
Then as a precaution she added, “ Is there any one 
else in the room who has any of these turnip teeth? 
Raise your hands if you have.” 

Not a hand went up, and every face met Mary’s 
indignant accusing gaze with such an innocent stare 
that she cried out: 

“ Oh, what a story ! ” 

“ Open your mouths,” commanded the teacher. 
“ Turn your pockets wrong side out.” 

To Mary’s amazement, nobody had so much as 
a taste of turnip to show, and she stood accused 
of being the only offender, the only one with judg- 
ment awaiting her after school. With her head 
on her desk, and her face hidden on her arms, she 
cried softly all through the spelling recitation. 
“ It wasn’t fair,” she sobbed to herself. 

Patty comforted her at recess with half her stick 
of licorice, and several of the other girls crowded 
around her, begging her to come and play Bird, and 
not to mind what the boys said, and not to look 
around when Wig Smith mimicked the teacher’s 
manner, and called after her in a tantalizing tone, 
“ Why, Mary Ware! I’m astonished /” 

Gradually they won her away from her tears, 


A BAY AT cCHOOL 


45 


and before recess was over she was shrieking with 
the gayest of them as they raced around the school- 
house to escape the girl who, being “It,” person- 
ated the “ bad man.” 

As they dropped into their seats at the close of 
recess, hot and panting, a boy from the grammar 
room came in and spoke to the teacher. It was 
Paul Archer, a boy from New York, whose father 
had recently bought a ranch near by. He held up 
a string of amber beads, as the teacher asked, “ Does 
this belong to any one in this room ? ” 

They were beautiful beads. Mary caught her 
breath as she looked at them. “ Like drops of rain 
strung on a sunbeam,” she thought, watching them 
sparkle as he turned and twisted the string. Paul 
was a big boy, very clean and very good-looking, 
and as little Blanche Ellert came up to claim her 
necklace, blushing and shaking back her curls, he 
held it out with such a polite, dancing-school bow 
that Mary’s romantic little soul was greatly im- 
pressed. She wished that the beautiful beads had 
been hers, and that she had lost them, and could 
have claimed them before the whole school, and 
had them surrendered to her in that princely way. 
She would like to lose a ring, she thought, that is, 


46 THE LITTLE Cl ' ONEL IN ARIZONA 

if she had one, or a locket, and have Paul find it, 
and give it to her before the whole school. 

Then she remembered that she had worn her best 
jacket to school that morning, and in the pocket was 
a handkerchief that had been hung on the Sunday^ 
school Christmas-tree for her in Plainsville. It was 
a little white silk one, embroidered in the corners 
with sprays of forget-me-nots, blue, with tiny pink 
buds. What if she should lose that and Paul should 
find it, and hold up the pretty thing in sight of all 
the school for her to claim? 

As the morning wore on, the thought pleased her 
more and more. The primary grades were dis- 
missed first at noon, so she had time to slip the 
handkerchief from her jacket-pocket, tiptoe guiltily 
into the other cloak-room, and drop it under a 
certain wide-brimmed felt hat, which hung on its 
peg with a jauntier grace than the other caps and 
sombreros could boast. It seemed to stare at her 
in surprise. Half-frightened by her own daring, 
she tiptoed out again, and ran after Patty, who was 
hunting for her outside. 

“ There won’t be any salt in our cake and pepper 
in our pie to-day,” Patty said, confidently, as they 
strolled off together with their arms around each 
other. “ Let’s get our baskets, and go away off out 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 


47 


of sight to eat our dinners. I know the nicest place 
down by the lateral under some cotton wood- trees. 
The water is running to-day.” 

“ It’ll be like having a picnic beside a babbling 
brook,” assented Mary. “ I love to hear the water 
gurgle through the water-gate.” 

Seated on a freshly hewn log, after a careful sur- 
vey had convinced them that no lizards, Gila mon- 
sters, or horned toads lurked underneath, the little 
girls opened their baskets, and shook out their nap- 
kins. The next instant a wail rose from them in 
unison : 

“Ants! Nasty little black ants! They’re over 
everything ! ” 

“ Just look at my chicken sandwiches,” mourned 
Mary, “ and all that lovely gingerbread. They’re 
walking all over it and through it and into it and 
around it. There isn’t a spot that they haven’t 
touched ! ” 

“ And my mince turnovers,” cried Patty. “ I 
brought one for you to-day, too, and a devilled egg. 
But there isn’t a thing in my basket that’s fit to 
eat.” s 

“ Nor mine, either,” said Mary, “ except the ap- 
ples. We might wash them in the lateral.” 

“ And I’m nearly starved, I’m so hungry,” grun> 


48 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

bled Patty. “ An apple’s better than nothing, but 
it doesn’t go very far.” 

“ It’s no use to go and ask Holland for any of 
his lunch,” said Mary. “ By this time he’s gobbled 
up even the scraps, and busted the bag. He always 
brings his in a paper bag, so’s there’ll be no basket 
to carry home.” 

Cautiously leaning over the bank of the lateral, 
Mary began dabbling her apple back and forth in the 
water, and Patty, kneeling beside her, followed her 
example. Suddenly Patty’s apple slipped out of 
her hand, and she clutched frantically at Mary’s 
arm in her effort to save it, and at the same time 
keep her balance. Both swayed and fell sideways. 
Mary’s arm plunged into the water, wetting her 
sleeve nearly to her shoulder, but, clawing at the 
earth and long grass with the other hand, she man- 
aged, after much scrambling, to regain her position. 

Patty, with a scream, rolled over into the water. 
The ditch was shallow, not more than waist-deep, 
but as she had fallen full length, she came up soak- 
ing wet. Even her hair dripped muddy little rivers 
down over her face. There was no more school 
for Patty that day. As soon as her old yellow 
horse could be saddled, she started off on a lope 
toward dry clothes and a hot dinner. 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 


49 


Mary looked after her longingly, as she sat with 
her sleeve held out in the sun to dry, and slowly 
munched her one cold apple. She was so hungry 
and miserable that she wanted to cry, yet this child 
of nine was a philosopher in her small way. 

“ I’m not having half as bad a time as the old 
vicar had,” she said to herself, “ so I won’t be a 
baby. Seems to me, though, that it’s about time 
fortune was changing in my favour. Maybe the 
turn will be when Paul finds my forget-me-not 
handkerchief.” 

With that time in view, she carefully smoothed 
the wrinkles out of her sleeve as it dried, and pulled 
the lace edging into shape around the cuff. Then 
she combed the front of her hair, and retied the 
big bows. She was not equal to the task of braid- 
ing it herself, but a glance into the little celluloid 
mirror satisfied her that she looked neat enough 
to march up before the school when the time should 
come for her to claim her handkerchief. 

Every time the door opened before the afternoon 
recess she Jooked up expectantly, her cheeks grow- 
ing red and her heart beating fast. But no Paul 
appeared, or anybody else who had found anything 
to be restored to its owner. She began to feel 


50 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

anxious, and to wonder if she would ever see her 
beloved forget-me-not handkerchief again. 

At recess she dodged back into the hall after every 
one had passed out, and stole a quick glance into 
the other cloak-room. The handkerchief was gone. 
Somebody had picked it up. Maybe the finder had 
been too busy to search for the owner. It would 
be brought in before school closed; just before 
dismissal probably. The prospect took part of the 
sting out of the recollection that she was to be kept 
after school that evening, for the first time in her 
life. 

During the last period in the afternoon, the A 
Geography class always studied its lesson for next 
day. Mary specially liked this study, and with her 
little primary geography propped up in front of 
her, carefully learned every word of description, 
both large print and small, on the page devoted to 
Africa. 

“ Your hair is coming undone,” whispered the 
girl behind her. “ Let me plait it for you. I love 
to fool with anybody’s hair.” 

Mary nodded her consent without turning around, 
and sat up straight in her seat, so that Jennie could 
reach it with greater ease. She never took her eyes 
from the page. The teacher, who was putting 



SHE PROCEEDED WITH A JOYFUL HEART TO PAINT THE 

AFRICAN LION ” 



A DAY AT SCHOOL 5 I 

home lessons on the board for the D Arithmetic to 
copy, was too busy to notice Jennie’s new occupa- 
tion. 

Mary enjoyed the soft touch of Jennie’s fingers 
on her hair. It felt so good to have it pulled into 
place with smooth, deft pats here and there. After 
the bows were tied on, Jennie still continued to play 
with it, braiding the ends below the ribbon into 
plaits that grew thinner and thinner, until they 
ended in points as fine and soft as a camel’s-hair 
paint-brush. Evidently they suggested brushes to 
Jennie, for presently she dived into her desk for 
something quite foreign to school work. It was 
a little palette-shaped card on which were arranged 
seven cakes of cheap water-colour paint. The brush 
attached to the palette had been lost on Christmas 
Day, before she had had more than one trial of her 
skill as an artist. 

The water-bottle, which held the soap-suds de- 
voted to slate-cleaning, stood behind the pile of 
books in her desk. She drew that out, and, having 
uncorked it, carefully dipped the end of one of 
Mary’s braids into it. Then rubbing it across the 
cake of red paint, she proceeded with a joyful heart 
to paint the African lion in her geography the most 
brilliant red that can be imagined. 


52 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Mary, still enjoying the gentle pull, little guessed 
what a bloody tip swung behind her right shoulder. 
Then the caressing touch was transferred to the 
left braid, and the greenest of green Bedouins, 
mounted on the most purple of camels, appeared 
on the picture of the Sahara. 

The signal for dismissal, sounding from the prin- 
cipal’s room across the hall, surprised both the girls. 
The time had passed so rapidly. Mary, putting 
her hand back to feel if her bows were properly 
tied, suddenly jerked her right braid forward in 
alarm. The end was wet, and — was it blood that 
made it so red? With a horrified expression she 
clutched the other one, and finding that wet and 
green, turned squarely around in her seat. She 
was just in time to see the geography closing on 
the red lion and green Bedouin, and realized in a 
flash how Jennie had been “ fooling ” with her hair. 

Before she could sputter out her indignation, the 
teacher rapped sharply on the table for attention. 
“Will you please come to order, Mary Ware?” 
she said, sternly. “ Remember, you are to remain 
after the others are dismissed.” 

To have been publicly reprimanded twice in one 
day, to have been kept after school, to have had 
one’s lunch spoiled by ants, and to have been left 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 


53 


miserably hungry all afternoon, to have had the 
shock of a plunge almost to the shoulder :'n icy 
water, and the discomfort of having a wet sleeve 
dried on one’s arm, to have had one’s hair used 
as paint-brushes, so that stains were left on the 
back of the new gingham dress, was too much. 
Mary could keep inflexible no longer. Then she 
remembered that no one had brought back the for- 
get-me-not handkerchief, and with that to cap her 
woes, she laid her head down on the desk and 
sobbed while the others filed out and left her. 

Usually, Holland found her waiting for him by 
the stile when the grammar grades were dismissed, 
but not seeing her there, he forgot all about her, 
and dashed on after the boy who tagged him. Then 
he and George Lee hurried on home to set a new 
gopher-trap they had invented, without giving her 
a thought. The faithful Patty, who always walked 
with her as far as the turn, had not come back to 
school after her plunge into the lateral. So it 
came about that when Mary finally put on her hat 
and jacket in the empty cloak-room, the playground 
was deserted. As far as her tear-swollen eyes could 
see up and down the road, not a child was in sight. 
With a sob, she stood a moment on the top step 
pf the stile, then slowly swinging her lunch-basket^ 


54 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in which there were no scraps as usual to appease 
her after-school hunger, she started on the long, 
two-mile walk home. 

It looked later than it really was, for the sun 
was not shining. She had gone on a long way, 
when a sound of hoofs far down the road made 
her look back. What she saw made her give an- 
other startled glance over her shoulder, and quicken 
her pace. Half-running, she looked back again. 
The sound was coming nearer. So was the rider. 
Another glance made her stand still, her knees 
shaking under her; for on the pony was an Indian, 
a big, stolid buck, with black hair hanging in straight 
locks over his shoulders. 

She looked wildly around. Nobody else was in 
sight, no house anywhere. The biggest man-eat- 
ing tiger in the jungles could not have terrified her 
like the sight of that lone Indian. All the tales 
that Jack and Holland had told for their mutual 
frightening, all that she had read herself of tortures 
and cruelties came into her mind. Their name was 
legion, and they were startlingly fresh in her mem- 
ory, for only the evening before she had finished 
a book called “ On the Borders with Crook,” and 
the capture of the Oatman girls had been repeated 
in her dreams. 


A DAY AT SCHOOL 55 

Sure that the Indian intended to tomahawk her 
the instant he reached her, she gave one stifled 
gasp of terror, and started down the road as fast 
as her fat little legs could carry her. A few rods 
farther on her hat flew off, but she was running for 
her life, and even the handsome steel buckle that 
had once been Cousin Kate’s could not be rescued 
at such a risk. 

She felt that she was running in a treadmill. Her 
legs were going up and down, up and down, faster 
than they had ever moved before, but she seemed 
to be making no progress; she was unable to get 
past that one spot in the road. And the Indian 
was coming on nearer and nearer, with deadly 
certainty,, gaining on her at every breath. She felt 
that she had been running for a week, that she 
could not possibly take another step. But with 
one more frantic glance backward, she gave an- 
other scream, and dashed on harder than before, 


CHAPTER IV. 


ware’s wigwam 

Phil Tremont, driving out from Phoenix in a 
high, red-wheeled cart, paused at the cross-roads, 
uncertain whether to turn there or keep on to the 
next section-line. According to part of the direc- 
tions given him, this was the turning-place. Still, 
he had not yet come in sight of Camelback Moun- 
tain, which was to serve as a guide-post. Not a 
house was near at which he might inquire, and not 
a living thing in sight except a jack-rabbit, which 
started up from the roadside, and bounded away at 
his approach. 

Then he caught sight of the little whirl of dust 
surrounding Mary in her terrified flight, and touched 
his horse with the whip. In a moment he was along- 
side of the breathless, bareheaded child. 

“ Little girl,” he called, “ can you tell me if this 
is the road to Lee’s ranch ? ” Then, as she turned 
a dirty, tear-stained face, he exclaimed, in amaze- 
56 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


5 7 


ment. “ Of all people under the sun ! The little 
vicar! Well, you are a sprinter! What are you 
racing with ? ” 

Mary sank down on the road, so exhausted by 
her long run that she breathed in quick, gasping 
sobs. Her relief at seeing a white face instead 
of a red one was so great that she had no room 
for surprise in her little brain that the face should 
be Phil Tremont’s, who was supposed to be far away 
in California. She recognized him instantly, al- 
though he no longer wore his uniform, and the 
broad-brimmed hat he wore suggested the cowboy 
of the plains rather than the cadet of the military 
school. 

“ What are you racing with ? ” he repeated, 
laughingly. “ That jack-rabbit that passed me down 
yonder? ” 

“A — a — a Indian /” she managed to gasp. 
“ He chased me — all the way — from the school- 
house ! ” 

“ An Indian ! ” repeated Phil, standing up in the 
cart to look back down the road. “ Oh, it must 
have been that old fellow I passed half a mile 
back. He was an ugly-looking specimen, but he 
couldn’t have chased you; his pony was so stiff 
and old it couldn’t go out of a walk,” 


58 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ He was a-chasing me ! ” insisted Mary, the 
tears beginning to roll down her face again. She 
looked so little and forlorn, sitting there in a heap 
beside the road, that Phil sprang from the cart, 
and picked her up in his strong arms. 

“ There/’ said he, lifting her into the cart. 
“ ‘ Weep no more, my lady, weep no more to-day ! ’ 
Fortune has at last changed in your favour. You 
are snatched from the bloody scalper of the plains, 
and shall be driven home in style by your brave 
rescuer, if you’ll only tell me which way to go.” 

The tear-stained little face was one broad smile 
as Mary leaned back in the seat. She pointed up 
the road to a clump of umbrella-trees. “ That’s 
where we turn,” she said. “ When you come to 
the trees you’ll see there’s a little house behind them. 
It’s the White Bachelor’s. We call him that because 
his horse and dog and cows and cats and chickens 
are all white. That’s how I first remembered where 
to turn on my way home, by the place where there’s 
so awful many white chickens. I was hoping to 
get to his place before I died of running, when you 
came along. You saved my life, didn’t you? I 
never had my life saved before. Wasn’t it strange 
the way you happened by at exactly the right 
moment? It’s just as if we were in a book. I 


WARE'S W/GWAM 


59 


thought you were away off in California at school. 
How did it happen anyway?” she asked, peering 
up at him under his broad-brimmed hat. 

A dull red flushed his face an instant, then he 
answered; lightly, “ Oh, I thought I’d take a vaca- 
tion. I got tired of school, and I’ve started out 
to see the world. I remembered what your brother 
said about the quail-shooting out here, and the 
ducks, so I thought I’d try it a few weeks, and then 
go on somewhere else. I’ve always wanted a taste 
of ranch life and camping.” 

“ I’m tired of school, too,” said Mary, “ specially 
after all the terrible unpleasant things that have 
happened to-day. But my family won’t let me stop, 
not if I begged all night and all day. How did you 
get yours to ? ” 

“ Didn’t ask ’em,” said Phil, grimly. “ Just 
chucked it, and came away.” 

“ But didn’t your father say anything at all ? 
Didn’t he care?” 

The red came up again in the boy’s face. “ He 
doesn’t know anything about it — yet; he’s in 
Europe, you know.” 

They had reached the White Bachelor’s now, and 
turning, took the road that ran like a narrow ribbon 
between the irrigated country and the desert. On 


60 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

one side were the wastes of sand between the red 
buttes and old Camelback Mountain, on the other 
were the green ranches with their rows of figs 
and willows and palms, bordering all the water- 
ways. 

“ Now we’re just half a mile from Lee’s ranch,” 
said Mary. “ We’ll be there in no time.” 

“ Do you suppose they’ll have room for me ? ” 
inquired Phil. “ That’s what I’ve come out for, 
to engage board.” 

“ Oh, I’m sure they will, anyhow, after to- 
morrow, for we’re going to move then, and that’ll 
leave three empty tents. We’ve rented a place half 
a mile farther up the road, and Jack and Joyce are 
having more fun fixing it up. That’s one reason 
I want to stop school. I’m missing all the good 
times.” 

“ Hello ! This seems to be quite a good-sized 
camp ! ” exclaimed Phil, as they came in sight of 
an adobe house, around which clustered a group of 
twenty or more tents, like a brood of white chickens 
around a motherly old brown hen. “ There comes 
Mrs. Lee now,” cried Mary, as a tall, black-haired 
woman came out of the house, and started across 
to one of the tents with a tray in her hands. Her 
pink dress fluttered behind her as she moved for- 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


bl 


ward, with a firm, light tread, suggestive of buoyant 
spirits and unbounded cheerfulness. 

“ She’s doing something for somebody all the 
time,” remarked Mary. “ If you were sick she’d 
nurse you as if she was your mother, but as long 
as you’re not sick, maybe she won’t let you come. 
Oh, I never thought about that. This is a camp 
for invalids, you know, and she is so interested in 
helping sick people get well, that maybe she won’t 
take any interest in you. Have you got a letter 
from anybody ? Oh, I do hope you have ! ” 

“A letter,” repeated Phil. “ What kind?” 

“ A letter to say that you’re all right, you know, 
from somebody that knows you. I heard her tell 
Doctor Adams last week that she wouldn’t take 
anybody else unless she had a letter of — of some- 
thing or other, I can’t remember, because one man 
went off without paying his board. We had a letter 
from her brother.” 

“ No, I haven’t any letter of recommendation or 
introduction, if that’s what you mean,” said Phil, 
“ but maybe I can fix it up all right with her. Can’t 
you say a good word for me ? ” 

“ Of course,” answered Mary, taking his question 
in all seriousness. “ And I’ll run and get mamma, 
too. She’ll make it all right.” 


62 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Springing out, Phil lifted her over the wheel, and 
then stood flicking the dry Bermuda grass with 
his whip, as he waited for Mary to announce his 
coming. He could hear her shrill little voice in 
the tent, whither she had followed Mrs. Lee to tell 
her of his arrival. 

“ It’s the Mr. Phil Tremont we met on the train,” 
he heard her say. “ Don’t you know, the one I 
told you about running away with his little sister 
and the monkey and the music-box one time. He 
isn’t sick, but he wants to stay here awhile, and 
I told him you’d be good to him, anyhow.” 

Then she hurried away to her mother’s tent, and 
Mrs. Lee came out laughing. There was some- 
thing so genial and friendly in the humourous 
twinkle of her eyes, something so frank and breezy 
in her hospitable Western welcome, that Phil met 
her with the same outspoken frankness. 

“ I heard what Mary said,” he began, “ and I do 
hope you’ll take me in, for I’ve run away again, 
Mrs. Lee.” Then his handsome face sobered, and 
he said, in his straightforward, boyish way that 
Mrs. Lee found very attractive, “ I got into a scrape 
at the military school. It wasn’t anything wicked, 
but four of us were fired. The other fellows’ fathers 
got them taken back, but mine is in Europe, and 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


63 


it’s so unsatisfactory making explanations at that 
long range, and I thought they hadn’t been alto- 
gether fair in the matter, so I — well, I just skipped 
out. Mary said I’d have to have references. I 
can’t give you any now, but I can pay in advance 
for a month’s board, if you’ll take me that way.” 

He pulled out such a large roll of bills as he spoke, 
that Mrs. Lee looked at him keenly. All sorts of 
people had drifted to her ranch, but never before 
a schoolboy of seventeen with so much money in 
his pocket. He caught the glance, and something 
in the motherly concern that seemed to cross her 
face made him say, hastily, “ Father left an emer- 
gency fund for my sister and me when he went 
away, besides our monthly allowance, and I drew 
on mine before I came out here.” 

While they were discussing prices, Mrs. Ware 
came out with a cordial greeting. Mary’s excited 
tale of her rescue had almost led her to believe that 
Phil had snatched her little daughter from an In- 
dian’s tomahawk. She was heartily glad to see 
him, for the few hours’ acquaintance on the train 
had given her a strong interest in the motherless 
boy and girl, and she had thought of them many 
times since then. Phil felt that in coming back 
to the Wares he was coming back to old friends. 


4 64 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

After it was settled that he might send his trunk 
out next day, when a tent would be vacant, he sat 
for a long time talking to Mrs. Ware and Mary, 
in the rustic arbour covered with bamboo and palm 
leaves. 

Chris was calling the cows to the milking when 
he finally rose to go, and only rapid driving would 
take him back to Phoenix before nightfall. As the 
red wheels disappeared down the road, Mary ex- 
claimed, “ This has certainly been the most exciting 
day of my life! It has been so full of unexpected 
things. Isn't it grand to think that Mr. Phil is 
coming to the ranch ? Fortune certainly changed in 
my favour when he happened along just in time 
to save my life. Oh, dear, there come Joyce and 
Jack! They've just missed him! ” 

Saturday afternoon found the new home all ready 
for its occupants. Even the trunks had been brought 
up from the ranch and stowed away in the tents. 
Although it was only two o’clock, the table was 
already set for tea in one corner of the clean, fresh 
kitchen, behind a tall screen. 

Joyce, with her blue calico sleeves tucked up above 
her white elbows, whistled softly as she tied on a 
clean apron before beginning her baking. She had 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


65 


not been as happy in months. The hard week’s 
work had turned the bare adobe house into a com- 
fortable little home, and she could hardly wait for 
her mother to see it. Mrs. Lee was to bring her 
and Norman over in the surrey. Any moment they 
might come driving up the road. 

Jack had offered to stay if his services were needed 
further, but she had sent him away to take his well- 
earned holiday. As he tramped off with his gun 
over his shoulder, her voice followed him pleasantly : 
“ Good luck to you, Jack. You deserve it, for you’ve 
stuck by me like a man this week.” 

Since dinner Mary and Holland had swept the 
yard, brought wood for the camp-fire, filled the 
boiler and the pitchers in the tents, and then gone 
off, as Joyce supposed, to rest under the cotton- 
wood-trees. Presently she heard Mary tiptoeing 
into the sitting-room, and peeped in to find her 
standing in the middle of the floor, with her hands 
clasped behind her. 

“ Isn’t it sweet and homey ! ” Mary exclaimed. 
“ I’m so glad to see the old furniture again I could 
just hug it ! I came in to get the book about Hia- 
watha, sister. Holland keeps teasing me ’cause I 
said I wished I was named Minnehaha, and says 


66 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

I am Mary-ha-ha. And I want to find a name for 
him, a real ugly one ! ” 

“ Call him Pau-Puk-Keewis, — mischief-maker,” 
suggested Joyce. “ There’s the book on the second 
shelf of the bookcase.” She stepped into the room 
to slip the soft silk curtain farther down the brass 
rod. 

“ I’m prouder of this bookcase than almost any- 
thing else we have,” she said. “ Nobody would 
guess that it was made of the packing-boxes that 
the goods came in, and that this lovely Persian silk 
curtain was once the lining of one of Cousin Kate’s 
party dresses.” 

“ I’m glad that everything looks so nice,” said 
Mary, “ for Mr. Phil said he was comiing up to 
see us this evening. I’m going to put on a clean 
dress and my best hair-ribbons before then.” 

“ Very well,” assented Joyce, going back to the 
kitchen. “ I’ll change my dress, too,” she thought, 
as she went on with her work. “ And I’ll light both 
lamps. The Indian rugs and blankets make the 
room look so bright and cosy by lamplight.” 

It had been so long since she had seen any one 
but the family and the invalids at the ranch, that 
the thought of talking to the jolly young cadet 
added another pleasure to her happy day. 


WARE'S W/G IV AM 


67 


“ Oh, Joyce,” called Holland, from behind the 
tents, “ may we have the paint that is left in the 
cans ? There’s only a little in each one.” 

“ I don’t care,” she called back. That had been 
an hour ago, and now, as she broke the eggs for 
a cake into a big platter, and began beating them 
with a fork, she wondered what they were doing 
that kept them so quiet. As the fork clacked noisily 
back and forth in the dish and the white foam rose 
high and stiff, her whistling grew louder. It seemed 
to fill all the sunny afternoon silence with its trills, 
for Joyce’s whistle was as clear and strong as any 
boy’s or any bird’s. But suddenly, as it reached 
its highest notes, it stopped short. Joyce looked 
up as a shadow fell across the floor, to see Jack 
coming in the back door with Phil Tremont. 

She had not heard the sound of their coming, for 
the noise of her egg-beating and her whistling. 
Joyce blushed to the roots of her hair, at being taken 
thus unawares, whistling like a boy over her cake- 
baking. For an instant she wanted to shake Jack 
for bringing this stranger to the kitchen door. 

“ We just stopped by for a drink,” Jack ex- 
plained. “ Tremont was coming out of the ranch 
with his gun when I passed with mine, so we’ve 


68 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

been hunting together. Come in, Phil, I’ll get a 
cup.” 

There was such a mischievous twinkle in Phil’s 
eyes as he greeted her, that Joyce blushed again. 
This was a very different meeting from the one 
she had anticipated. Instead of him finding her, 
appearing to her best advantage in a pretty white 
dress, sitting in the lamplight with a book in her 
hands, perhaps, he had caught her in her old blue 
calico, her sleeves rolled up, and a streak of flour 
across her bare arm. She rubbed it hastily across 
her apron, and gathered up the egg-shells in em- 
barrassed silence. 

“ Did you tell those kids that they might paint 
up the premises the way they are doing?” de- 
manded Jack. 

“ What w&y? ” asked Joyce, in surprise. 

“ Haven’t you seen what they’ve done to the front 
of the house ? They haven’t waited for your name 
contest, but have fixed up things to suit themselves. 
You just ought to come out and look! ” 

Phil followed as they hurried around to the front 
of the house, then stood smiling at the look of blank 
amazement which slowly spread over Joyce’s face. 
Down one of the rough cottonwood posts, which 
supported the palm and bamboo thatch of their 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


69 


Robinson Crusoe porch, was painted in big, 
straggling, bloody letters : “ W-A-R-E-S W-X-G- 
W-A-M.” Joyce groaned. She had made such an 
attempt to convert the rude shade into an attractive 
spot, spreading a Navajo blanket over her mother’s 
camp-chair, and putting cushions on the rustic bench 
to make a restful place, where one could read or 
watch the shadows grow long across the desert. 
She had even brought out a little wicker tea-table 
this afternoon, with a vase of flowers on it, and 
leaned her mother’s old guitar against it to give a 
mal civilizing touch to the picture. But the effect 
was sadly marred by the freshly painted name, glar- 
ing at her from the post. 

“ Oh, the little savages ! ” she exclaimed. “ How 
could they do it? Ware’s Wigwam, indeed !” 

Then her gaze followed Jack’s fingdr pointing to 
the tents pitched under the cottonwood-trees. The 
one which she was to share with Mary and her 
mother stood white and clean, the screen-door open, 
showing the white beds within, the rug on the floor, 
the flowers on the table ; but the large, circular one, 
which the boys were to occupy, was a sight to make 
any one pause, open-mouthed. 

Perched beside it on a scaffolding of boxes and 
barrels stood Holland, with a paint-can in one hand 


70 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

and a brush in the other, putting the finishing 
touches to some startling decorations. Mary, on 
the other side, was brandishing another brush, and 
both were so intent on their work that neither 
looked up. Joyce gave a gasp. Never had she seen 
such amazing hieroglyphics as those which chased 
each other in zigzag green lines around the fly of 
the tent. They bore a general resemblance to those 
seen on Indian baskets and blankets and pottery, 
but nothing so grotesque had ever flaunted across 
her sight before. 

“ Now, get the book/’ called Holland to Mary, 
“ and see if we’ve left anything out.” Only Mary’s 
back was visible to the amused spectators. She 
took up the copy of “ Hiawatha” from the barrel 
where it lay, careful to keep the hem of her apron 
between it and. her paint-bedaubed thumbs. 

“ I think we’ve painted every single figure he 
wrote about,” said Mary. “ Now, I’ll read, and you 
walk around and see if we’ve left anything out: 

“ Very spacious was the wigwam 
With the gods of the Dacotahs 
Drawn and painted on the curtains.” 

“ No, skip that,” ordered Holland. “ It’s farther 
down.” Mary’s paint-smeared fingers travelled 
slowly down the page, then she began again : 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


7 * 


Sun and moon and stars he painted, 

Man and beast and fish and reptile. 

“ Figures of the Bear and Reindeer, 

Of the Turtle, Crane, and Beaver. 

“ Owl and Eagle, Crane and Hen-hawk, 

And the Cormorant, bird of magic. 

“ Figures mystical and awful, 

Figures strange and brightly coloured.” 

“ They’re all here,” announced Holland, “ spe- 
cially the figures mystical and awful. I’ll have to 
label mine, or somebody will take my turtle for 
a grizzly.” 

“ Oh, the little savages ! ” exclaimed Joyce again. 
“ How could they make such a spectacle of the 
place! We’ll be the laughing-stock of the whole 
country.” 

“ I don’t suppose that’ll ever come off the tent, 
but we can paint the name off the post,” said Jack. 

“ Oh that’s a fine name,” said Phil, laughing, 
“ leave it on. It’s so much more original than most 
people have.” 

Before Joyce could answer, the rattle of wheels 
announced the coming of the surrey, and Mrs. Lee 
drove into the yard with Mrs. Ware and Norman, 
and her own little daughter, Hazel. Then Joyce’s 
anger, which had burned to give Holland and Mary 


J2 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

a good shaking, vanished completely at sight of her 
mother’s amusement. Mrs. Ware had not laughed 
so heartily in months as she did at the ridiculous 
figUics grinning from the tent. It seemed so good 
to see her like her old cheerful self again that, when 
she laughingly declared that the name straggling 
down the post exactly suited the place, and was 
far more appropriate than Bide-a-wee ,or Alamo, 
Joyce’s frown entirely disappeared. Mrs. Lee 
caught up the old guitar, and began a rattling 
parody of “ John Brown had a little Indian,” chang- 
ing the words to a ridiculous rhyme about “ The 
Wares had a little Wigwam.” 

Mrs. Ware sat down to try the new rustic seat, 
and then jumped up like a girl again to look at 
the view of the mountains from the camp-chair, and 
then led the way, laughing and talking, to investi- 
gate the new home. She was as pleased as a child, 
and her pleasure made a festive occasion of the 
home-coming, which Joyce had feared at first would 
be a sorry one. 

Phil shouldered his gun ready to start off again, 
feeling that he ought not to intrude, but Jack had 
worked too hard to miss the reward of hearing his 
mother’s pleased exclamations and seeing her face 
light up over every little surprise they had prepared 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


7 3 


for her comfort. “ Come and see, too,” he urged 
so cordially that Phil fell into line, poking into all 
the corners, inspecting all the little shelves and cup- 
boards, and admiring all the little makeshifts as 
heartily as Mrs. Lee or Mrs. Ware. 

They went through the tents first, then the 
kitchen, and last into the living-room, of which 
Joyce was justly proud. There was only the old 
furniture they had had in Plainsville, with the books 
and pictures, but it was restful and homelike and 
really artistic, Phil acknowledged to himself, look- 
ing around in surprise. 

“ Here’s the Little Colonel’s corner,” said Mary, 
leading him to a group of large photographs framed 
in passe-partout. “ You know mamma used to live 
in Kentucky, and once Joyce- went back there to. a 
house-party. Here’s the place, Locust. That’s 
where the Little Colonel lives. Her right name is 
Lloyd Sherman. And there she is on her pony, 
Tar Baby, and there’s her grandfather at the gate.” 

Phil stooped for a closer view of the photograph, 
and then straightened up, with a look of dawning 
recognition in his face. 

“ Why, I’ve seen her,” he said, slowly. “ I’ve 
been past that place. Once, several years ago, I was 
going from Cincinnati to Louisville with father, and 


74 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

something happened that we stopped on a switch in 
front of a place that looked just like that. And the 
brakeman said it was called Locust. I was out 
on the rear platform. I believe we were waiting 
for an express train to pass us, or something of 
the sort. At any rate, I saw that same old gentle- 
man, — he had only one arm and was all dressed 
in white. Everybody wa,s saying what a picture he 
made. The locusts were in bloom, you know. And 
while he stood there, the prettiest little girl came 
riding up on a black pony, with a magnificent St. 
Bernard dog following. She was all in white, too, 
with a spray of locust blossoms stuck in the cockade 
of the little black velvet Napoleon cap she wore, 
exactly as it is in that picture; and she held up a 
letter and called out : ‘ White pigeon wing fo’ you, 
grandfathah deah/ I never forgot how sweet it 
sounded.” 

“ Oh, that was Lloyd ! That was Lloyd ! ” called 
Mary and Joyce in the same breath, and Joyce 
added : “ She always used to call out that when 
she had a letter for the old Colonel, and it must 
have been Hero that you saw, the Red Cross war- 
dog that was given to her in Switzerland. How 
strange it seems that you should come across her 
picture away out here in the desert ! ” 


WAKE'S WIGWAM 


75 


Mary’s eyes grew rounder and rounder as she 
listened. She delighted in romantic situations, and 
this seemed to her one of the most romantic she had 
ever known in real life, quite as interesting as any- 
thing she had ever read about. 

“ Doesn’t it seem queer to think that he’s seen 
Lloyd and Locust ? ” she exclaimed. “ It makes 
him seem almost like home folks, doesn’t it, 
mamma ? ” 

Mrs. Ware smiled. “ It certainly does, dear, and 
we must try to make him feel at home with us in 
our wild wigwam.” She had seen the wistful ex- 
pression of his eyes a few moments before when, 
catching Joyce and Jack by the arms, she had cried, 
proudly : “ Nobody in the world has such children 
as mine, Mrs. Lee! Don’t you think I have cause 
to be proud of my five little Indians, who fixed up 
this house so beautifully all by themselves ? ” 

“ Come back and take supper with us, won’t 
you?” she asked, as he and Jack started on their 
interrupted hunt. “ We’ll make a sort of house- 
warming of our first meal together in the new wig- 
wam, and I’ll be glad to count you among my little 
Indians.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Ware,” he said, in his gentle- 
manly way and with the frank smile which she 


76 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

found so winning; “you don’t know how much 
that means to a fellow who has been away from 
a real home as long as I have. I’ll be the gladdest 
‘ little Indian ’ in the bunch to be counted in that 
way.” 

“ Then I’ll get back to my cake-making,” said 
Joyce, “ if we’re to have company for supper. I 
won’t promise that it’ll be a success, though, for 
while it bakes I’m going to write to Lloyd. I’ve 
thought for days that I ought to write, for I’ve 
owed her a letter ever since Christmas. She doesn’t 
even know that we’ve left Plainsville. And I’m 
going to tell her about your having seen her, and 
recognized her picture away out here on the desert. 
I wish she’d come out and make us a visit.” 

“ Here,” said Phil, playfully, taking a sprig of 
orange blossoms from his buttonhole, and putting it 
in the vase on the wicker table. “ When you get your 
letter written, put that in, as a sample of what grows 
out here. I picked it as we passed Clayson’s ranch. 
If it reaches her on a cold, snowy day, it will make 
her want to come out to this land of sunshine. You 
needn’t tell her I sent it.” 

“ I’ll dare you to tell,” said Jack, as they started 
off. 

Joyce’s only answer was a laugh, as she went back 


WARE'S WIGWAM 


77 


to her egg-beating. Almost by the time the boys 
were out of sight, she had whisked the cake dough 
into a pan, and the pan into the oven, and, while 
Mrs. Ware and Mrs. Lee talked in the other room, 
she spread her paper out on the kitchen table, and 
began her letter to the Little Colonel. 


CHAPTER V. 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 

Lloydsboro Valley would have seemed a 
strange place to Joyce, could she have followed her 
letter back to Kentucky. She had known it only in 
midsummer, when the great trees at Locust arched 
their leafy branches above the avenue, to make a 
giant arbour of green. Now these same trees stood 
bleak and bare in the February twilight, almost 
knee-deep in drifts of snow. Instead of a green 
lacework of vines, icicles hung between the tall 
white pillars of the porch, gleaming like silver 
where the light from the front windows streamed 
out upon them, and lay in far-reaching paths across 
the snow. 

In the long drawing-room, softly lighted by many 
candles and the glow of a great wood fire, the 
Little Colonel sat on the arm of her father’s chair. 
He had just driven up from the station, and she 

78 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 79 

held his cold ears in her warm little hands, giving 
them a pull now and then to emphasize what she 
was saying. 

“ The first sleigh-ride of the season, Papa Jack. 
Think of that! We’ve had enough snow this win- 
tah for any amount of coasting and sleighing if 
it had only lasted. That’s the trouble with Ken- 
tucky snow; it melts too fast to be any fun. But 
to-night everything is just right, moon and all, and 
the sleighs are to call for us at half-past seven, and 
we’re going for a glorious, gorgeous, grandiferous 
old sleigh-ride. At nine o’clock we’ll stop at The 
Beeches for refreshments.” 

“ Yes,” chimed in Betty from the hearth-rug, 
where she sat leaning against her godmother’s knee. 
“ Mrs. Walton says we shall have music wherever 
we go, like little Jenny that 4 rode a cock-horse 
to Banbury Cross.’ She has a whole pile of horns 
and bells ready for us. It’s lovely of her to' enter- 
tain both the clubs. She’s asked the Mu Chi Sigma 
from the Seminary as wejl as our Order of Hilde- 
garde.” 

“ Oh, that reminds me,” exclaimed Mr. Sher- 
man, 44 although I don’t know why it should — 
I brought a letter up fromt the post-office for you, 
Lloyd.” Feeling in several pockets, he at last 


80 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

found the big square envelope he was searching 
for. 

“ What a big fat one it is,” said Lloyd, glancing 
at the postmark. “ Phoenix, Arizona ! I don’t 
know anybody out there.” 

“ Arizona is where our mines are located,” said 
Mr. Sherman, watching her as she tore open the 
envelope. 

“ Oh, it’s from Joyce Ware!” she cried. “See 
all the funny little illustrations on the edge of the 
papah ! And heah is a note inside for you, mothah, 
from Mrs. Ware, and oh, what’s this? How 
sweet ! ” A cluster of orange blossoms fell out into 
her lap, brown and bruised from the long journey, 
but so fragrant, that Betty, across the room, raised 
her head with a long indrawn breath of pleasure. 

Listen! I’ll read it aloud: ” 

“ ‘ Ware’s Wigwam, Arizona. 

“ ‘ Dearest Lloyd : — Mamma’s note to your 
mother will explain how we happened to stray away 
out here, next door to nowhere, and why we are 
camping on the edge of the desert instead of en- 
joying the conveniences of civilization in Kansas. 

“ 4 The sketch at the top of the page will give you 
an idea of the outside of our little adobe house and 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 


81 


the tents, so without stopping for description I’ll 
begin right here in the kitchen, where I am sitting, 
waiting for a cake to bake. It’s the cleanest, cosiest 
kitchen you ever saw, for Jack and I have been 
cleaning and scrubbing for days and days. It has 
all sorts of little shelves and cupboards and cuddy 
holes that we made ourselves, and the new tins 
shine like silver. A tall screen in the middle of the 
room shuts off one end for a dining-room, and 
the table is set for supper. To-night we are to have 
our first meal in the wigwam. Holland and Mary 
named it that, and painted the name on the porch 
post in big bloody letters a little while ago. 

“ ‘ Through the open door I can look into the 
other room, which is library, studio, parlour, and 
living-room all in one. Everything is so spick and 
span that nobody would ever guess what a dreadful 
time we had putting on the paper and painting all 
the woodwork. I spilled a whole panful of cold, 
sticky paste on Jack’s head one day. We had made 
a scaffolding of boxes and barrels. One end slipped 
and let me down. You never saw such a sight as 
he was. I had to scrape his hair and face with a 
spoon. Then so much of the paper wrinkled and 
would stick on crooked, but now that the pictures 


82 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

are hung and the furniture in place, none of the 
mistakes show. 

“ 4 Jack has gone hunting with Phil Tremont, a 
boy staying at Lee’s ranch. I am learning to shoot, 
too. I practised all one afternoon, and the gun 
kicked so bad that my shoulder is still black and 
blue. Phil said the loads were too heavy, and he 
is going to loan me his little rifle to practise with. 
He is such a nice boy, and, oh, Lloyd! it’s the 
strangest thing ! — he has seen you. I have those 
pictures of Locust hanging over my easel, and, 
when he saw the photograph of you on Tar Baby, 
he recognized it right away. He was on the train 
and saw you ride in at the gate with a letter for 
your grandfather, and Hero following you. 

44 4 1 didn’t get any farther than this in my letter 
(because I spent so much time making the illus- 
trations) before Phil and Jack came back with some 
quail they had shot. They were the proudest boys 
you ever saw, and nothing would do but they must 
have those quail cooked for supper. They couldn’t 
wait till next day. Mamma had invited Phil to 
take supper with us, and help make a sort of house- 
warming of our first meal in the new home. 

44 4 We had the jolliest kind of a time, and after- 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 83 

ward he helped wipe the dishes. I told him that I 
was writing to you, and he took this little piece of 
orange blossom out of his buttonhole, and asked 
me if I didn’t want to send it to you as a sample 
of what we are enjoying in this land of perpetual 
sunshine. 

44 4 It isn’t a sample of everything, however. The 
place has lots of drawbacks. Oh, Lloyd, you can’t 
imagine how lonesome I get sometimes. I have 
been here a month, and haven’t met a single girl 
my age. If there was just one to be chums with 
I wouldn’t mind the rest so much, — the leaving 
school and all that. I don’t mind the work, even 
the washing and ironing and scrubbing, — it’s just 
the lonesomeness, and the missing the good times 
we used to have at the high school. 

44 4 Save up your pennies, or else get a railroad 
pass, you and Betty, for some of these days I’m 
going to give a wigwam-party. It will be a far 
different affair from your house-party (could 
there ever be another such heavenly time?), but 
there are lots of interesting things to see out here: 
an ostrich farm, an Indian school and reservation, 
and queer old ruins to visit. There are scissors- 
birds and Gila monsters — I can’t begin to name 
the things that would keep you staring. Mrs. Lee 


$4 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

has a Japanese chef, and a Mexican to do her irri- 
gating, and a Chinaman to bring her vegetables, 
and she always buys her wood of the Indians, so it 
seems very foreign and queer at first. There is no 
lack of variety, so I ought to be satisfied, and I am 
usually, except when I think of little old Plainsville, 
and the boys and girls going up and down the dear 
old streets to high school, and meeting in the li- 
brary, and sitting on the steps singing in the moon- 
light, and all the jolly, sociable village life and the 
friends I have left behind for ever. Then it seems 
to me that I can hardly stand it here. I wish you 
and Betty were with me this very minute. Please 
write soon. With love to you both and everybody 
else in the family and the dear old valley, 

“ ‘ Your homesick 

“ ‘ Joyce/ ” 

Mrs. Ware’s letter was cheerful and uncomplain- 
ing, but there were tears in Mrs. Sherman’s eyes 
when she finished reading it aloud. 

“ Poor Emily,” she said. “ She was always such 
a brave little body. I don’t see how she can write 
such a hopeful letter under the circumstances, — 
an invalid sent out into the wilderness to die, maybe, 
with all those children. She has so much ambition 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 85 

to make something of them, and no way to do it. 
Jack, if you go out to the mines this month, as you 
talked of doing, I want you to arrange your trip 
so that you can stop and see her.” 

Lloyd looked up in surprise. “ When are you 
going, Papa Jack? Isn’t it queah how things hap- 
pen!” 

“ The latter part of this mlonth, probably. Mr. 
Robeson has invited me to go out with a party in 
his private car. He is interested in the same mines.” 

“ I wonder — ” began Mrs. Sherman, then 
stopped as Mom Beck came to announce dinner. 
“ I’ll talk to you about it after awhile, Jack.” 

Somehow both Betty and Lloyd felt that it was 
not the summons to dinner which interrupted her, 
but that she had started to speak of something 
which she did not care to discuss in their presence. 

“ Arizona has always seemed such a dreadful 
place to me,” said Lloyd, hanging on her father’s 
arm, as they went out to the dining-roorp. “ I 
remembah when you came back from the mines. 
It was yeahs ago, befo’ I could talk plainly. 
Mothah and Fritz and I went to the station to meet 
you. Fritz had roses stuck in his collah, and kept 
barking all the time as if he knew something was 
going to happen. You fainted when we got to the 


86 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

house, and were so ill that you neahly died. I 
heard you talk about a fiah at the mines, and evali 
since I’ve thought of Arizona as looking like the 
Sodom and Gomorrah in my old pictuah book — 
smoke and fiah sweeping across a great plain, and 
people running to get away from it.” 

“ To me it’s just a yellow square on a map,” 
said Betty. “ Of course, I’ve read about the won- 
derful petrified forests of agate, and the great canon 
of the Colorado, but it’s always seemed the last 
place in the world I’d ever want to visit. It’s ter- 
rible for Joyce to give up everything and go out 
there to live.” 

“ The Waltons were out there several years,” 
said Mrs. Sherman. “ They were at Fort Hua- 
chuca, and learned to love it dearly. Ask them 
about it to-night. They will tell you that Joyce 
is a very fortunate girl to have the opportunity of 
living in such a lovely and interesting country, and 
does not need any one’s pity.” 

Little else was discussed all during dinner. Af- 
terward they sat around the fire in the drawing- 
room, still talking of the Wares and the strange 
country to which they had moved, until a tooting 
of horns and a jingling of bells announced the 
coming of the sleighing party. Both the girls were 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 6? 

into their wraps before the first sleigh reached the 
gate. They stood waiting by the hall window, 
looking out on the stretches of moon-lighted snow. 
What a cold, white, glistening world it was! One 
could hardly imagine that it had ever been warm 
and green. 

Lloyd put her nose into the end of her muff for 
a whiff of the orange blossoms. She was taking 
Joyce’s letter to show to the girls. 

Betty, her eyes fixed on the stars, twinkling above 
the bare branches of the locust-trees, caught the 
fragrance also, and it fired her romantic little soul 
with a sudden thought. 

“ Lloyd,” she exclaimed, “ what if that orange 
blossom was an omen ! What if Phil were the one 
written for you in the stars! ” 

“ Oh, Betty ! The idea ! ” laughed Lloyd. 
“ You’re always imagining things the way they are 
in books.” 

“ But this happened just that way,” persisted 
Betty. “ His passing Locust on the train and see- 
ing you when you were a little girl, and then finding 
your picture away out on the desert several years 
after, and sending you a token of his remembrance 
by a friend, and orange blossoms at that! If ever 


88 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

I finish that story of Gladys and Eugene, I’m going 
to put something like that in it.” 

“ Heah they come,” interrupted Lloyd, as the 
sleighs dashed up to the door. “ Come on, Papa 
Jack and everybody. Give us a good send-off.” 

She looked back after her father had helped them 
into the sleigh, to wave good-bye to the group on 
the porch. How interested they all were in her 
good times, she thought. Even her grandfather 
had come to the door, despite his rheumatism, to 
wish them a pleasant ride. Life was so sweet and 
full. How beautiful it was to be dashing down 
the snowy road in the moonlight! Was she too 
happy? Everybody else had troubles. Would 
something dreadful have to happen by and by, to 
make up for all the unclouded happiness of the 
present? She was not cold, but a sudden shiver 
passed over her. Then she took ^p the song with 
the others, a parody one of the Seminary girls had 
made for the occasion: 

“ Oh, the snow falls white on my old Kentucky home. 

’Tis winter, the Valley is gay. 

The moon shines bright and our hearts are all atune, 

To the joy-bells jingling on our sleigh.” 

Down the avenue they went, past Tanglewood 
and Oaklea, through the little village of Rollington. 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 89 

on and on through the night. Songs and laughter, 
the jingling of bells and the sound of girlish voices 
floated through all the valley. It was not every 
winter that gave them such sport, and they enjoyed 
it all the more because it was rare. It was nine 
o’clock when the horses swung around through the 
wide gate at The Beeches, and stopped in front of 
the great porch, where hospitable lights streamed 
out at every window across the snow. 

There was such a gabble over the steaming cups 
of hot chocolate and the little plates of oyster pates 
that Lloyd could not have read the letter if she had 
tried. For there were Allison and Kitty and Elise 
passing the bonbons around again and again, with 
hospitable insistence, and saying funny things and 
making everybody feel that “ The Beeches ” was 
the most charming place in the Valley for an enter- 
tainment of that kind. Everybody was in a gale 
of merriment. Miss Allison was helping to keep 
them so, and some of the teachers were there from 
the college, and two or three darkies, with banjoes 
and mandolins, out in the back hall, added to the 
general festivities by a jingling succession of old 
plantation melodies. 

However, Lloyd managed to tell Mrs. Walton 
about the letter, saying : “ It almost spoils my fun 


90 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

to-night to think of poah Joyce being away out in 
that dreadful lonesome country.” 

“ Why, my dear child,” cried Mrs. Walton, 
“ some of the happiest years of my life were spent 
in that dreadful country, as you call it. It is a 
charming place. Just look around and see how 
I have filled my home with souvenirs of it, because 
I loved it so.” 

Lloyd’s glance followed hers to the long-handled 
peace-pipe over the fireplace, the tomahawks that, 
set in mortars captured during a battle in Luzon, 
guarded the hearth instead of ordinary andirons, 
the baskets, the rugs, and the Navajo portieres, and 
the Indian spears and pottery arranged on the walls 
of the stairway. 

“ Even that string of loco berries over Gero- 
nimo’s portrait has a history,” said Mrs. Walton. 
“ Come down some day, and I’ll tell you so many 
interesting things about Arizona that you’ll want 
to start straight off to see it.” 

Her duties as hostess called her away just then, 
but her enthusiasm stayed with Lloyd all the rest 
of the evening, until she reached home and found 
her father and mother before the fire, still talking 
about the Wares and their wigwam. 

“ Your mother wants me to take you with me 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 


when 1 go to Arizona/' said Mr. Sherman, draw- 
ing her to his knee. “ Mr. Robeson had invited 
her to go, but, as long as that is out of the question, 
she wants to arrange for you to go in her place.” 

“ And leave school ? ” gasped Lloyd. 

“ Yes, with Betty's help, you could easily make 
up lost lessons during the summer vacation. You'd 
help her, wouldn’t you, dear ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed ! ” cried Betty. “ I’d get them for 
her while she was gone, if I could.” 

“ Oh, it’s so sudden, it takes my breath away,” 
said Lloyd, after a moment’s pause. “ Pinch me, 
Betty ! Shake me ! And then say it all ovah again, 
Papa Jack, to be suah that I'm awake!” 

“ Do you think you could get your clothes ready 
in ten days ? ” he asked, when he had playfully 
given her the shaking and pinching she had asked 
for. 

“ Oh, I don't need any new clothes,” she cried. 
“ But, Papa Jack, I’ll tell you what I do want, and 
that’s a small rifle. Please get me one. I used 
to practise with Rob's air-gun till I could shoot as 
straight as he could, and I got so that I could put 
a hole through a leaf at even longer range than he 
could. Christmas, when Ranald Walton was home, 
we all practised with his gun. It’s lots of fun. 


92 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Joyce is learning to shoot, you know. Please let 
me have one, Papa Jack. I’d rather have itMhan 
a dozen new dresses.” 

Mr. Sherman looked at her in astonishment. 
“ And this is my dainty Princess Winsome,” he 
said at last. “ I thought you were going for a 
nice, tame little visit. I’ll be afraid now to take 
you. You’ll want to come back on a bucking 
broncho, and dash through the Valley, shooting 
holes through the crown of people’s hats, and las- 
soing carriage horses when you can’t find any wild 
ones to rope. No, I can’t take you now. I’m afraid 
of consequences.” 

“ No, honestly, Papa Jack,” laughed Lloyd, “ I’ll 
be just as civilized as anybody when I come back, 
if you’ll only get me the rifle. I’ll try to be extra 
civilized, just to please you.” 

“ We’ll see,” was the only answer he would give, 
but Lloyd, who had never known him to refuse her 
anything, knew what that meant, and danced off 
to bed perfectly satisfied. She was too excited to 
sleep. To see Joyce again, to share the wigwam 
life, and make the acquaintance of Jack and Hol- 
land and Mary, who had been such interesting per- 
sonages in Joyce’s tales of them, to have that long 
trip with Papa Jack in Mr. Robeson’s private car, 


WHAT A LETTER BROUGHT ABOUT 93 

and a month’s delightful holiday, seemed too much 
happiness for one small person. All sorts of ex- 
citing adventures might lie ahead of her in that 
month. 

The stars, peeping through her curtains, twinkled 
in friendly fashion at her, as if they were glad of 
her good fortune. Suddenly they made her think 
of Betty’s words : “ What if Phil should be the 
one written for you in the stars ? ” It was strange, 
his having seen her so long ago, and finding her 
picture in such an unexpected way. She wondered 
what he was like, and if they would be good friehds, 
and if she could ever think as much of him as she 
did of her old playmates, Rob and Malcolm. Then 
she fell asleep, wishing that it was morning, so 
that she could send a letter to Joyce on the first 
mail-train, telling her that she was coming, — that 
in less than two weeks she would be with her at 
Ware’s Wigwam. 


CHAPTER VI. 

WASH - DAY AND WASHINGTON 

It was wash-day at Ware’s Wigwam; the first 
that Joyce and Jack had personally conducted* as 
it was the first Monday after moving from Lee’s 
ranch. 

Out in the back yard a big tin wash-boiler sat 
propped up on stones, above a glowing camp-fire. 
From time to time Jack stooped to poke another 
stick of mesquite into the blaze, or give the clothes 
in the boiler a stir with an old broom-handle. Then 
tucking up his shirt-sleeves more firmly above his 
elbows, he went back to the tub by the kitchen 
door, and, plunging his arms into the suds, began 
the monotonous swash and rub-a-dub of clothes 
and knuckles on the Avash-board. 

“ We allee samee lak Chinamen,” he said to 
Joyce, who was bending over another tub, rinsing 
and wringing. “ Blimeby, when we do heap more 
94 







WASH- DAY AND WASHINGTON 95 

washee, a cue will glow on my head. You’ll be no 
mo’ Clistian lady. You’ll be lil’l heathen gel.” 

“ I believe you’re right,” laughed Joyce. “ I cer- 
tainly felt like a heathen by the time I had finished 
rubbing the first basket full of clothes through the 
suds. The skin was off two knuckles, and my back 
was so tired I could scarcely straighten up again. 
But it won’t be so bad next week. Mamma says 
that we may draw enough out of bank to buy a 
washing-machine and a wringer, and that will make 
the work lots easier.” 

* A long, shrill whistle out in the road made them 
both stop to listen. “ It’s Phil,” said Jack. “ He 
said he would ride past this morning to show us 
the new horse he is going to buy. My ! It’s a 
beauty bright ! ” he exclaimed, peering around the 
corner of the kitchen, “ Come out and look at it.” 

Hastily wiping the suds from his arms, and giv- 
ing a hitch to the suspenders of his old overalls, 
he disappeared around the house. Joyce started 
after him, then drew back, remembering her old 
shoes and wet, faded gingham, as she caught sight 
of Phil, sitting erect as a cavalryman on the spirited 
black horse. From the wide brim of his soft, gray 
hat to the spurs on his riding-boots, he was fault- 
lessly dressed. A new lariat hung on the horn of 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


his saddle, the Mexican quirt he carried had mount- 
ings of silver on the handle, and the holster that 
held his rifle was of handsomely carved leather. 
While he talked to Jack, the horse stepped and 
pranced and tossed its head, impatient to be off. 

“ Come on out, Joyce, and look at it,” called 
Phil. 

“ I can’t,” she answered, peeping around the cor- 
ner of the kitchen. “ I’m running a Chinese laun- 
dry back here. Jack says I’m no longer a 4 Clistian 
lady.’ ” 

“ Do you want any help ? ” he called, but there 
was no answer. She had disappeared. Phil was 
disappointed. It was for her admiration more than 
Jack’s that he had ridden by on the new horse. He 
was conscious that he made a good appearance in 
the saddle, and he had expected her to show some 
interest in his purchase. Usually she was so en- 
thusiastic over everything new. The work might 
have waited a few minutes, he thought. 

But it was not the urgency of the work that sent 
Joyce back to the tubs in such a hurry. It was the 
rebellious feeling that swept over her at the sight 
of his holiday appearance. She was tired and hot 
and bedraggled, having splashed water all over 
herself, and the contrast between them irritated her. 


WASH-DAY AND WASHINGTON 9 J 

“ If I have to be a Polly-put-the-kettle-on all the 
days of my life, I’ll just be one,’’ she said, in a half- 
whisper, giving the towel she was wringing a 
vicious twist. “ I’m not going out there to have 
him feel sorry for me. He’s used to seeing girls 
who are always dainty and fresh, like his sister 
Elsie, and I’m not going to let him see me looking 
like a poor, bedraggled Cinderella. It isn’t fair 
that some people should have all the good things 
in life, and others nothing but the drudgery. 

“ Jack doesn’t seem to mind it. There he stands 
out in the road in his old faded, paint-smeared 
overalls, and his sleeves rolled up, never caring how 
awkward and lanky he looks. He’s taking as eager 
an interest in that horse’s good points as if he were 
to have the pleasure of riding it. But then Jack 
hasn’t the artistic temperament. He likes this wild 
country out here, and he never can understand what 
a daily sacrifice it is for me to live in such a place. 
My whole life is just a sacrifice to mamma and 
the children.” 

By the time the basket was full of clothes, ready 
to be hung on the line, Joyce had worked herself 
up to such a pitch of self-pity that she felt like a 
martyr going to the stake. She carried the basket 
to the sunny space behind the tents, where the line 


98 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

had been stretched. Here, with her sunbonnet 
pulled over her eyes, she could see without being 
seen. Phil was just riding away whistling. She 
watched him out of sight. The desert seemed lone- 
lier than ever when the sound of hoof-beats and 
the cheery tune had passed. Her gaze wandered 
back to old Camelback Mountain. “ We’ll never 
get away, you and I,” she whispered. “ All the 
bright, pleasant things in life will ride by and leave 
us. Only the work and the waiting and the lone- 
liness will stay.” 

When she went back to the house with her empty 
basket, Jack was rubbing away with a vigour that 
was putting holes in one of Holland’s shirts. 

“ Why didn’t you come out and see Phil’s new 
horse ? ” he cried, enthusiastically. “ He let me 
try him, and he goes like a bird. And say, Joyce, 
he knows where I could get the best kind of an 
Indian pony for almost nothing, at a camp near 
Scottsdale. It is good size, and it’s broke either to 
the saddle or buggy, and the people will sell it for 
only ten dollars. Just think of that. It’s almost 
giving it away. The man who had it died, and 
his wife couldn’t take it back East with her, and 
she told them to sell it for anything they could 


WASH -DAY AND WASHINGTON 99 

get. Don’t you think we could manage in some 
way to get it, Joyce?” 

“ Why, Jack Ware! What can you be thinking 
of ! ” she cried. “ For us to spend ten dollars on 
a horse that we don’t need would be just as great 
an extravagance as for some people to spend ten 
hundred. Don’t you know that we can only buy 
things that we absolutely have to eat or to wear? 
You’ve surely heard it dinned into your ears long 
enough to get some such idea into your head.” 

“We don’t absolutely have to have a washing- 
machine and wringer,” he declared, nettled by 
Joyce’s unusual tone. “ A horse would be lots 
more use. We could have it to bring wood up 
with from the desert when we’ve burned all that’s 
close by. And we can’t go on all year borrowing a 
horse from Mrs. Lee every time we want to go to 
town, or have to have a new supply of groceries.” 

“ But you know well enough that mamma’s teach- 
ing Hazel, after awhile when she gets well enough, 
will more than make up for the borrowing we will 
do,” answered Joyce. “ Besides it would only be 
the beginning of a lot of expense. There’d be feed 
and a saddle to start with.” 

“ No, there wouldn’t ! There’s all that alfalfa 
pasture going to waste behind the house, and Mrs. 


IOO THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Lee has a saddle hanging up in her attic that some- 
body left on a board bill. She said I might use it 
as often as I pleased.’' 

“ Well, we can’t afford to spend ten dollars on 
any such foolishness,” said Joyce, shortly. “ So 
that is the end of it.” 

“ No, it isn’t the end of it,” was the spirited 
answer. “ I’ve set my heart on having that pony, 
and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll take the place of 
the washing-machine and wringer. You give me 
the five dollars they would cost, and I’ll do every 
bit of the rubbing and wringing every Monday 
morning. I’ll borrow the other five dollars, and 
give a mortgage on the pony. I’ll find some way 
to earn enough to pay it off before the summer 
is over.” 

Joyce shook her head. “ No, a mortgage makes 
a slave of anybody foolish enough to chain himself 
up with one, Grandpa Ware always used to say. 
I’m running the finances now, and I won’t give 
my consent. I think it is best to get the machine, 
and I don’t intend to change my mind. You may 
get a position next fall, and then I’d be left to do 
the work without any machine to help. Besides, 
you sha’n’t run in debt to get something that no- 
body really needs.” 


WASH-DAY AND WASHINGTON 


IOI 


“ I do need it,” insisted Jack, “ and I don’t see 
why, when you are only a year older than I am, 
that you should have the say-so about the way all 
the money is to be spent.” 

“ Because mamma wishes me to. Don’t you see 
that the very fact of your wanting to be extrava- 
gant in this case, and go in debt and load yourself 
down with a mortgage shows that I have better 
judgment than you?” 

“ Oh, you’ve got a great head for business ! ” 
sneered Jack. “ Don’t you see that it wouldn’t be 
the same as buying something to eat up or wear 
out? It’s an investment. You put the money into 
the pony instead of the bank, and any time you 
want to get it out, you just sell the beast. I might 
be able to get twice as much for him next fall when 
the tourists begin to come into Phoenix for the 
winter.” 

“ Yes, you might, but it would be more like 
Ware luck for it to cut itself all to pieces on the 
barb-wire fences before then, or break its legs 
stumbling into a gopher hole, or founder itself by 
getting into a neighbour’s oat-bin. Something 
would be sure to happen. The money is safe where 
it is, and I believe in letting well enough alone.” 

“ Banks bust sometimes, too,” said Jack, moodily, 


102 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ and / believe that ‘ nothing venture, nothing 
have/ ” 

It was the first quarrel they had had in months. 
Each, feeling firmly convinced of being in the right, 
grew indignant with the other, and they passed 
from teasing banter to angry words, and then to 
an angrier silence. “ It won’t be any harder for 
him to give up what he had set his heart on than 
it is for me,” thought Joyce, as she hung up the 
last garment. “ I have to do without things I want 
all the time. And I’m not going to let him think 
that I’ll give in if he teases long enough. I wouldn’t 
have any authority at all over the children if I 
wasn’t firm with them.” 

As Jack emptied the last tubful of water, and 
stood the wash-board up to dry, he broke the angry 
silence that had lasted fully ten minutes. 

“ Holland has a dollar in his savings-bank, and 
Mary has seventy-five cents. We could all chip in 
with what we have, and then go without butter or 
something for awhile till we’d saved enough.” 

Joyce only gave an impatient shrug as she re- 
plied : “ Much comfort we’d get out of a horse that 
everybody had a share in. If Holland felt that he’d 
sunk a dollar and several pounds of butter in that 
pony, he’d feel privileged to ride it any hour of 


W. ASH- DAY AND WASHINGTON 


103 


the day or night, no matter who wanted it, and 
he’d do it, too. You might as well give it up. 
Jack. It is selfish of you to insist on spending so 
much on just your own pleasure.” 

“ Selfish! ” blazed Jack. “ It’s you that’s selfish, 
wanting to be so bossy and have everything just 
your way. I haven’t asked you to do without any- 
thing, have I, or to put in any of your money? 
And if I do the work of the washing-machine and 
wringer, I don’t see why I shouldn’t have what they 
would cost, to do what I please with. You're the 
selfish one ! ” 

He banged the tub up against the tree and walked 
©ff toward his tent, buttoning his shirt-sleeves, and 
muttering to himself as he went. 

“ Now, he’ll go and tell mamma, I suppose, and 
worry her,” thought Joyce, as she went into the 
kitchen. “ But I’m too tired to care. If I hadn’t 
been so tired, I probably wouldn’t have snapped 
him off so short, but it just goes to prove that we 
can’t do without a machine. The washing is too 
hard for me without one. I can’t afford to get 
so worn out every week. It is all right for him 
to offer to take the place of one. He might keep 
it up for weeks, and even months, but next fall, 
if he should get a position in Phoenix, the money 


104 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

would be spent and I’d be left with the bag to hold. 
I don’t think that, under the circumstances, he has 
any right to call me selfish. I’m not! ” 

The word stuck in her memory, and hurt, as she 
dragged herself wearily into the sitting-room, and 
lay down on the couch. After she had pulled the 
afghan over her shoulders and buried her face in 
one of the pillows, a few hot tears trickled down 
through her closed eyelids, and made them smart. 
The kitchen clock struck eleven. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” she said to herself, “ I must get 
up in a few minutes and see about dinner.” But 
the next thing she knew, Norman was ringing the 
dinner-bell in her ears, shouting that it was one 
o’clock, and that Jack had dinner ready, and to 
come before it got cold. 

“ Oh, Jack, why didn’t you call me? ” she cried. 
“ I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I only stretched 
out to rest for a few minutes.” 

He made no answer, busying himself in carrying 
a hot dish of poached eggs and toast to the table, 
and bringing his mother’s tea. He was carrying 
on a lively conversation with her. 

“ Still mad, I suppose,” thought Joyce, when he 
ignored her repeated question. “ But evidently he 
hasn’t said anything to mamma about it.” 


WASH -DAY AND WASHINGTON 105 

The meal seemed an unusually cheerful one, for 
although Jack and Joyce had nothing to say to each 
other, they kept up such a chatter with their mother, 
that she ate her dinner serenely unconscious of their 
coolness toward each other. Afterward she insisted 
upon washing the dishes, so that Joyce could take 
a well-earned rest, and Jack go down to the ranch 
to see Mr. Ellestad’s new microscope, which had just 
come. Joyce would not listen to her appeal that she 
was perfectly able to do that much work, and that 
she needed the exercise, but finally consented to 
her helping wipe the dishes, while she cleared the 
table and washed them. But Jack, after a little 
urging, started down the road toward the ranch, 
to spend a long, interesting afternoon there. As 
he went whistling qut of sight Mrs. Ware looked 
after him fondly. 

“ I know he’s the best boy in the world,” she 
said. “ I wish I could afford to give him some of 
the pleasures that other boys have.” 

“ Seems to me he has about as much as the rest 
of us,” said Joyce, rattling the cups and saucers in 
the dish-pan. But a picture rose in her mind as 
she spoke, that made her wish that she had not been 
so cross and so positive. It was Phil Tremont, on 
his horse, as he had looked that morning, handsome. 


10 6 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

fun-loving, and free to do as he pleased, and then 
in sharp contrast, Jack, standing in the road beside 
him, in his old outgrown, paint-smeared overalls, 
his fingers red and wrinkled from the suds, called 
from his work to see a pleasure in which he could 
not share. Now that she was rested and refreshed 
by her dinner, matters looked different. She could 
even see the force of Jack's argument about the 
pony being an investment, and she wished again 
that she had not been so positive in her refusal. 

But having once said no, Joyce felt that it would 
not be dignified to yield. If she changed her mind 
this time, Jack would think that she was incon- 
sistent ; and such is the unyielding policy of fifteen, 
that she felt that she would rather be called selfish 
than to admit that she was in the wrong or had 
been mistaken. 

It was a long afternoon. The fact that she and 
Jack had quarrelled kept recurring to her constantly, 
and made her uncomfortable and unhappy. He 
came back from the ranch at supper-time as if noth- 
ing had happened, however, and when she asked 
him some question about the new microscope, he 
answered with a full description that made her feel 
he had forgotten their morning disagreement. 

“ I don't believe that he cares so much about that 


WASH- DAY AND WASHINGTON 10J 

pony after all,” she thought. After supper, when 
Holland and Mary had disposed of the dishes, she 
drew out the kitchen-table, and began sprinkling 
clothes ready for the next day’s ironing. The boys 
had gone to their tent. The door was open between 
the kitchen and the sitting-room so that the heat 
might pass in to where Mrs. Ware sat knitting by 
the lamp. Mary was there also, and her voice came 
out to Joyce shrilly, as if she were in the room with 
her. 

“ It seems a waste of time for me to be learning 
new pieces to say at school when I know at least 
a dozen old ones that I, recited in Plainsville that 
would be new out here. But teacher picked this 
out for me. She’s going to keep us in at recess if 
we don’t know our pieces Friday. This has forty- 
eight lines in it, and I’ve only four nights to learn 
it in.” 

“ That is not bad,” said Mrs. Ware, consolingly. 
“ Only twelve lines an evening. Read it all to me, 
then I’ll help you with the first quarter.” 

Joyce stopped her humming as Mary began dra- 
matically : 

“ 4 A Boy of Seventy-six.’ That’s the name of 
it.” She read unusually well for a child of her age, 
and the verses were new to Joyce: 


10 8 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


“ You have heard the story, time and again, 

Of those brave old heroes, the ‘ Minute Men,’ 
Who left their homes to fight or fall, 

As soon as they heard their country’s call. 

Let me tell you of one, unnamed, unknown, 

A brave boy-hero, who fought alone. 

When the breathless messenger drew rein 
He had started whistling, down the lane 
With his rod and line, to the brook for trout, 

But he paused as he heard the warning shout, 
And his father called to him, ‘ Ben, my son, 

I must be off to Lexington ! 

There is little time for fishing now, 

You must take father’s place behind the plough. 1 
One quick good-bye ! The boy stood still, 
Watching him climb the homeward hill — 

In and out of the house again, 

With his musket, to join the ‘ Minute Men.* 

Then he turned the furrows, straight and true, 
Just as he’d seen his father do. 

He dropped the corn in the narrow rows, 

And fought for its life with the weeds and crows. 
Oh, it was hard, as the days wore on, 

To take the place of that father, gone. 

The boyish shoulders could hardly bear 
All their burden of work and care. 

But he thought, ‘ It is for my country’s sake 
That father’s place at the plough I take. 

When the war is over, and peace is won, 

How proud he’ll be of his little son ! ’ 

But they brought him home to a soldier’s grave, 
Wrapped in the flag he had died to save. 

And Ben took up his burden again, 

With its added weight of grief and pain, 

Saying bravely, ‘ In all things now 


WASH -DAY AND WASHINGTON IOg 

I must take father’s place behind the plough.* 

Seed-time and harvest came and went, 

Steadily still to the work he bent, 

For the family needed bread, and then. 

So did the half-starved fighting men. 

Only a boy ! Not a hero bold, 

Whose deeds in the histories are told. 

Still, there fell under British fire, 

No braver son of a patriot sire 

Than this young lad, who for duty’s sake 

Said, ‘ This is the task I’ll undertake. 

I cannot fight for my country now, 

But I’ll take father’s place behind the plough.* ** 


“ I wonder why it is,” said Mary, thoughtfully, 
as she came to the end, “ that all the heroes live 
so far away that nobody knows them except the 
people who write the books and poetry about them. 
I wish I knew a boy like that.”’ 

“ You do,” said her mother, quietly. “ One who 
has been just as faithful to duty, just as much of 
a hero in his small way as Ben. Who said the same 
thing, ‘ In all things now, I must take father’s place 
behind the plough,’ and who has done it, too, so 
faithfully and well that he has lifted a great burden 
from his mother’s heart, and made living easier for 
all the family.” 

“ Why, mamma, do I know him? Was it some- 
body in Plainsville? What was his name?” 


no THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


“ John Alwyn Ware,” said her mother, with a 
smile, although her lips trembled. 

“John Alwyn Ware,” repeated Mary, with a 
puzzled expression. “ Why, that was papa’s name, 
and you said that he was a boy that I knew.” 

“Isn’t it Jack’s name, too?” asked her mother. 

“ Yes, so it is ! But how could he take his father’s 
place behind the plough? Papa was a lawyer, and 
never had any plough.” 

“ Whatever is a man’s life-work may be called 
his plough,” explained Mrs. Ware, gently, “ and 
papa’s duties were not all in his law-office. They 
were at home, too, and there is where Jack tried 
to take his place. He was such a little fellow. My 
first thought was, ‘ Oh, how am I ever going to 
bring up my three boys without their father’s help 
and noble example ! ’ and he came to me, his little 
face all streaked with tears, and put his arms around 
me, and said, * Don’t cry, mother, I’ll take papa’s 
place now, and help take care of the family. If 
I can’t do anything for awhile but just be a good 
boy, I’ll do that much, and set them a good exam- 
ple.’ And from that day to this he has never given 
me an anxious moment. He is a high-strung boy, 
fond of having his own way, and it has often been 
a struggle for him to resist the temptation of doing 


WASH- DA V AND WASHINGTON 


III 


as his chums did, when they were inclined to be 
a little wild. But he has always been true to his 
promise, and Holland and Norman have both been 
easier to manage, because of the example of obe- 
dience he has always set them. So you see the 
heroes don’t always live so far away after all. 
You’ve been living in the same house with one, 
and didn’t know it.” 

Norman came clamouring into the kitchen for 
something that Holland had sent for, and Joyce 
lost the rest of the conversation, but what she had 
heard stayed with her. Little scenes that she had 
almost forgotten came up in her mind. Now she 
understood why Jack had so often refused to join 
in the larks of the other boys. It was not because 
he was lazy and indifferent, as she had sometimes 
thought, when he had settled down with a book at 
home, instead of going with them in the evenings. 
She understood, too, why he never “ answered 
back ” or asked why. Not because he had any less 
spirit than Holland, or cared less for his own way. 
It was because of the promise he had made beside 
his father’s coffin. He was setting the highest ex- 
ample he knew of obedience and faithfulness to duty. 

“ How could I have called him selfish ? ” she 
asked herself, “ when this is the first time he has 


1 12 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

asked for anything for his own pleasure since we 
have been here. He has stayed at home and dug 
and delved like an old man instead of a boy of four- 
teen, and of course it must be as dull for him as 
it is for me. I suppose I didn’t realize it, because 
he never complains as I do. I’ve had so many more 
good times than he has,” she went on in her self- 
communing. “ My trip to Europe, and the Little 
Colonel’s house-party, — and he was never even 
out of Plainsville until we came here.” 

As she thought of the house-party, she caught 
the gleam of the little ring, the lover’s knot of gold 
on her finger that Eugenia had given her to remind 
her of the Road of the Loving Heart, and she stood 
quite still for a moment, looking at it. 

“ I believe I’ll do it,” she decided, finally, and 
fell to work so energetically that the last damp roll 
of clothes was soon tucked away in the basket. 
Then taking the candle from the shelf, and shading 
it carefully with her hand, she hurried out to her 
tent. Dropping on her knees beside her trunk, she 
began turning over its contents till she reached a 
pink bonbon-box at the very bottom. 

Inside the box was a letter, and inside the letter 
was a gold coin, the five dollars that Cousin Kate 
had sent her Christmas. She had put it sacredly 


WASH-DAY AND WASHINGTON 1 1 3 

away as a nest-egg, intending to add to it as she 
could, until there was enough to pay for a course 
of instruction in illustrating, by correspondence. 
The address of an art school which advertised to 
give such lessons, was copied on the envelope. 

As she turned the letter irresolutely in her hands, 
she heard Jack’s voice in the next tent, talking to 
Holland: 

“ I wonder who’ll take my place in the high 
school nine this year? Wouldn’t I give my eyes 
to pitch for them when they play the Plainsville 
‘ Invincibles ’ ! Wish I could see old Charlie Scud- 
der’s red head behind the bat again! And don’t 
I wish I could hear him giving his call for me out 
by the alley gate! I’d walk from here to Phoenix 
just to hear it again.” 

“ I don’t miss the fellows much as I thought I 
would,” said Holland, who was hunting for a cer- 
tain hook he wanted in what looked to be a hopeless 
snarl of fishing-tackle. “ There’s some first-rate 
kids go to this school, and I see about as much fun 
out here as I did at home.” 

“ I suppose it would be different with me if I 
went to school,” said Jack. “ But it gets mighty 
monotonous poking around the desert by yourself, 
even if you have got a gun. Now that Phil Tre- 


1 14 the LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

mont has his horse, that will cut me out from going 
with him, for I’ll have to foot it wherever I go.” 

“ Oh, I know where there’s a dandy Indian pony 
for sale over by Scottsdale,” began Holland. 
“ George Lee told me about it. They’re going to 
put it up at auction Saturday, if they don’t sell it 
before. Don’t you wish you had it ? ” 

“You can bet your only dollar I do! I tried to 
talk Joyce into thinking we could afford it, but she 
wouldn’t be convinced.” 

“ I don’t see why she should always have the 
say-so,” said Holland. “ She’s only a year older 
than you are, anyhow. She sits down on every- 
thing we want to do, as if she was our grandmother. 
She’s too bossy.” 

“ No, she isn’t,” answered Jack, loyally. “ She 
knows what she is talking about. She’s had a 
mighty tough time trying to make one dollar do the 
work of two since we’ve been out here. And she’s 
worked like a squaw, and it’s powerful hard on her 
having so much responsibility. What she says in 
this wigwam goes , even if it doesn’t suit our 
tastes ! ” 

A warm little glow came into Joyce’s heart as 
she knelt there beside the trunk, unconsciously play- 
ing eavesdropper. How good it was of Jack tc 


w, ASH- DA Y AND WASHINGTON I \ 5 

uphold her that way with Holland, who was always 
resenting her authority, and inclined to be rebellious. 
Hesitating no longer, she reached into the tray of 
her trunk for the purse which held the monthly 
housekeeping allowance. Taking out a crisp five- 
dollar bill, she folded the coin in it, and ran out 
toward the boys’ tent. 

The candle-light, streaming through the canvas, 
made a transparency on which the green-eyed gods 
of the Dacotahs stood out in startling distinctness. 
Holland’s shadow, bending over the fishing-tackle 
beside the candle, reached to the top of the tent. 
Jack’s waved its heels over the foot-board of the 
bed on which he had thrown himself. 

“ Jack,” she said, putting her head through the 
opening of the tent where the flap was pinned back, 
“ I’ve changed my mind about that investment. 
I’ve decided to go in with you. I’ll put in Cousin 
Kate’s Christmas money, and if you still want to 
take the place of the washing-machine and wringer, 
we’ll use the five dollars they would cost, to buy 
the pony. Then I think the most appropriate name 
we could give it would be Washing- ton!” 


CHAPTER VII. 


A SURPRISE 

In order to understand the excitement that pre- 
vailed at the Wigwam when it was announced that 
the Little Colonel was on her way toward it, one 
would first have to understand what an important 
part she had played in the Ware household. To 
begin with, the place where she lived had always 
seemed a sort of enchanted land to the children. 
“ The Old Kentucky Home ” was their earliest 
cradle-song, and their favourite nursery-tales were 
about the people and places of Lloydsboro Valley, 
where their mother’s happy girlhood had been 
passed. 

They might grow tired of Red Riding Hood and 
Cinderella. Aladdin and even Ali Baba and the 
forty thieves might lose their charm, but no story 
failed to interest them that began “ Once upon a 
time in Lloydsboro Valley.” These reminiscences 
had passed from Joyce to Jack, and on down the 


A SURPRISE 


ii 7 

line, with the high chair and the Cock Robin book 
and the red building-blocks, belonging to each in 
turn, but claimed by all. Mary’s tears, Holland’s 
tempers, and Norman’s tantrums had many a time 
disappeared as if by magic, at those familiar words. 

After Joyce’s return from the house-party at 
Locust, the Little Colonel became the central figure 
of interest, and all the glamour with which their 
childish imaginations had surrounded the place, now 
gathered around her like a nimbus around a saint. 
To Mary, who had read the “ Princess Winsome ” 
until she knew it all by heart, Lloyd was something 
between an ideal princess, who played on a golden 
harp, and an ideal little schoolgirl, who lived in a 
real palace, and did exactly as she pleased. She 
could talk of nothing else, after the letter came, 
and followed Joyce and her mother with innumer- 
able questions, pausing often before the pictures of 
Lloyd and Tarbaby. 

The boys’ interest in her coming was increased 
when they found that she was going to bring a 
rifle, and that her father had promised to hire a 
horse for her as soon as they arrived. 

Phil, who came so often to the Wigwam now 
that he seemed almost one of the family, caught so 
much of its enthusiasm over the coming guest, that 


1 1 8 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

he planned picnics and excursions for every day 
of her visit. He even had a voice in what he called 
the Council of War, in which it was decided to let 
the two older boys move their cots out-of-doors. 
Holland had been clamouring to sleep outside the 
tent ever since George Lee told him that he had 
begun to do so, and that was what made the cow- 
boys so strong. 

So the gaily decorated tent, with its “ figures 
mystical and awful,” was made ready for Lloyd, 
and Norman took Joyce’s place in his mother’s tent. 

“ She’ll know that she’s really out West when 
she once sets her eyes on those gods of the Daco- 
tahs,” Holland said to Mary on their way to school 
one morning. “ As long as we call this the Wig- 
wam, I think we ought to be dressed up in war- 
paint and feathers when she gets here. I’ll do it, 
Mary, if you will. I’ll dare you to. I’ll double 
dare you ! ” 

Usually a double dare never failed to have the 
desired effect upon Mary. She would attempt any- 
thing he suggested. But it was too serious a matter 
to risk the first impression that such an appearance 
would make upon Lloyd, so she trudged on with 
a resolute shake of her little blond braids and big 
blue bows. 


A SURPRISE 


I 19 

“ No, sir-ree, Holland Ware. I’m going to stay 
home from school that day, and wear my very best 
white dress and my rosebud sash. It’s just as good 
as new if it is two years old, and the little spots on 
it where I squirted orange- juice don’t show at all 
when it’s tied. And Joyce said that she is going 
to put your hands to soak overnight, to see if she 
can’t get them clean for once, for if there’s any- 
thing the Little Colonel abominates, it’s dirty hands 
and finger-nails. And you’ve got to wear a necktie 
every day, and go into Phoenix and have your hair 
cut. So there ! ” 

“ Oh, I have, have I ? ” repeated Holland, mimick- 
ing her tone. “ If Joyce has all those plans in her 
head, she can just get them out again. I’m not go- 
ing to be a dude for any old girl in the country, 
I don’t care if it is Lloyd Sherman. And if she 
is so dreadful particular as all that, I’ll do some- 
thing to shock her every day, till she gets used to 
it. Yes, I believe I’ll come to the table the very 
first meal in a blanket, with feathers in my hair, 
and if you dare tell anybody beforehand, I’ll — I’ll 
— well, I’ll get even with you in a way you won’t 
like.” 

“ Oh, Holland, please don’t ! Please don’t dis- 
grace us,” begged Mary, who always took his threats 


120 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in earnest. “ It would be too dreadful. I’ll give 
you something nice if you’ll promise not to.” 

“ What will you give me ? ” 

“ What have I got that you want ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it.” 
Holland had no intention of carrying out his 
threats, but he kept Mary in a fever of anxiety all 
week, saying one hour that he’d think about her 
offer, and the next that she didn’t have anything 
he cared for, and that he preferred the fun of tor- 
menting the girls to anything she could give. 

Joyce drew a star on the kitchen calendar, over 
the date on which they expected Lloyd to arrive; 
a big five-pointed red star. She rejoiced that it 
fell on a Wednesday, for by that time the washing 
and ironing would be out of the way. Her first 
experience in laundry-work made her look ahead 
to the coming Mondays as weekly bugbears. But 
the second was not so hard as the first. True to 
his promise, Jack did all the rubbing and wring- 
ing, getting up at daybreak to start the fire under 
the big wash-boiler out in the yard. 

This morning, as he touched a match to the little 
pile of kindling, and fanned the blaze with his hat, 
the new pony, grazing in the alfalfa field, came up 


A SURPRISE 


121 


to the pasture-bars with a whinny, and put his head 
over the fence, as if to watch him. 

“ Oh, you think you’ll boss this job, do you, Mr. 
Washington?” said Jack, who, in the short time 
he had had the pony, had grown as fond of him 
as if he were a person, and who talked to him as 
if he had human intelligence. “ Well, you ought 
to take an interest in the washing, since that’s the 
way you got your name, and the reason you are 
here. Wait till I get this boiler filled, and I’ll bring 
you a lump of sugar.” 

Washington was a wiry little pony. He had a 
wicked light in his eyes, and was too free with his 
heels at times, but he had been raised as a house- 
hold pet, and stood like a kitten while Jack rubbed 
his nose and fed him sugar. 

“ Take it easy while you can,” said Jack. “ If 
I have to work like a dog all morning on your 
account, to earn half the dollars that you cost us, 
I’ll put you through your paces this afternoon to 
make up for it. You’ll think that you are the Wild 
Mazeppa by the time we get back. Oh, you’re such 
a nice old fellow ! ” 

Nobody was near to see the impulsive way in 
which the boy threw his arms around the pony’s 
neck and hugged him tight. The feeling of pos- 


122 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


session made him happy as a king-, as he sat on the 
topmost bar braiding Washington’s shaggy fore- 
lock, while the sun came up over the Camelback, 
and the morning chorus of bird-calls swelled louder 
and sweeter over the awakening world. 

The fire under the boiler was crackling merrily, 
and the water was steaming, when Joyce came out 
of her tent and started toward the kitchen. She 
stopped a moment by the pasture-bars to reach 
through and give the pony a friendly stroke, for 
she was almost as proud and fond of him as Jack. 
She had had several delightful rides on him; once 
with Jack for company, on Phil’s new horse, and 
twice with Phil, when they had raced for miles 
down the sandy road, past olive orchards and 
orange groves, sweet with the coming of spring. 

“ Pm going to clip his mane to-morrow,” said 
Jack, as he slipped down from his seat, and followed 
Joyce toward the kitchen. “ He must look his best 
when Lloyd comes.” 

“ We’ve done everything to that tune for a week,” 
laughed Joyce. “ ‘ When Lloyd comes ’ has grown 
to be a sort of refrain, running through all our 
conversation. You notice now, at breakfast, and 
see how often it will be used.” 

Holland was the first to repeat the well-worn 


A SURPRISE 


123 


phrase, as he took his seat at the table, and waited 
hungrily for his plate to be served. 

“ When Lloyd comes you’ll have some of those 
good little corn muffins for breakfast, won’t you, 
Joyce? Kentucky people aren’t used to cold bread.” 

Joyce smiled at Jack as the words they were wait- 
ing for were repeated, and then almost mechanically 
used them herself in her answer. “ We’ll have them 
once in awhile, I suppose, but we can’t afford a very 
great change in our bill of fare. We’ll have a 
mighty skimpy dinner to T day, for there’s not much 
left over from Sunday, and we’ll be too busy wash- 
ing to stop to cook. But I want to have a big bak- 
ing before Lloyd comes. If I go in to meet her 
Wednesday, in the ranch surrey, I’ll have to do 
the extra cooking to-morrow afternoon, I suppose, 
after the ironing is out of the way.” 

Mary cast an inquiring glance at the red star on 
the calendar. 

“ Only to-day and to-morrow, then I can stay 
home the day after that when Lloyd comes, and 
wear my best white dress and my rosebud sash.” 

“ Oh, that will be joyful,” chanted Holland, imi- 
tating her tone. 

“ I wish that I were able to help you more with 
the work,” said Mrs. Ware, wistfully. “ Then you 


124 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

would have more time for preparation. Norman 
and I can manage the tent work, I think, this morn- 
ing. Then I’ll go down to the seat under the wil- 
lows, and finish that Indian head sofa pillow. We 
must have that done before Lloyd comes.” 

“ Seems to me that I can hardly wait,” said Mary, 
giving an impatient little wiggle that nearly upset 
her glass of milk. 

“ I wish Betty were coming, too,” said Joyce. 
“ She would be making up stories from morning 
till night about the strange things out here ; but she 
wouldn’t have much peace. You children would 
never let her out of your sight.” 

“ Like Davy did at the cuckoo’s nest,” said Mary, 
who knew Betty’s history almost as well as her own, 
and loved dearly to talk about it. Betty’s devotion 
to her godmother since she had gone to live at 
Locust, and her wonderful gift for writing verses 
and stories made her almost as interesting to Mary 
as the Little Colonel herself. As she moved about 
the house after breakfast, doing the little duties 
that fell to her lot before school-time, she chanted 
in a happy undertone all the play of the “ Rescue of 
the Princess Winsome,” from beginning to end. 

Sir Feal, the faithful knight, had been associated 
in her mind with Phil, since the day he rescued 


A SURPRISE 


125 


her from her fright when she was running away 
from the Indian. She was the princess, and Phil 
the gallant knight, who, she dreamed in her ro- 
mantic little heart, might some day send her mes- 
sages by the morning-glories and forget-me-nots, 
as Sir Feal had done. Of course, not now, but some 
day when she was grown, and wore long, lovely 
dresses, and had a beautiful voice. She had pic- 
tured herself many a time, standing by a casement 
window with a dove clasped to her breast, and sing- 
ing the song, “ Flutter, and fly, flutter, and fly, bear 
him my heart of gold.” 

But now that the real princess was coming, she 
lost interest in her own little day-dreams, which 
were of such a far-away time and so vague and 
shadowy, and began dreaming them for Lloyd. 
She wondered what Phil would think of her when 
they first met. She had already recited the entire 
play to him, and showed him the miniature, and, 
as he studied the sweet face at the casement, bend- 
ing over the dove, he had hummed after Mary in 
an absent-minded sort of way: 


“ Spin, spin, oh, golden thread, 

He dreams of me night and day. 

The poppy’s chalice is sweet and red, 
Oh, Love will find a way.” 


126 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

She was still humming it this morning when she 
came out of the back door, ready to start to school, 
and her thoughts were full of the play. 

“ Joyce,” she remarked, critically, pausing to 
watch her sister put more wood on the camp-fire 
and poke the clothes in the boiler with the end of an 
old broom-handle, “ you look like the witch in the 
play: 

« ‘ On the fire 

I’ll pile my faggots higher and higher, 

And in the bubbling water stir 
This hank of hair, this patch of fur. 

Bubble and boil, and snake-skin coil ! 

This charm shall all plans but the Ogre’s foil.’ ” 

Joyce laughed, and Mary, slipping through the 
bars, followed Holland across lots to school. “ I 
do feel like a witch in this old dress and sunbonnet,” 
she said, “ and I must look like one. But no one 
ever comes here in the mornings but Phil, and he 
has had his orders to stay away on Mondays.” 

“ What is the use of worrying about how you 
look?” asked Jack. “ Nobody expects a fellow 
to play Chinese laundryman with a high collar and 
kid gloves on.” 

Sousing the tubful of clothes into the rinse-water, 
Joyce went on vigorously with her morning’s work. 
She and Jack relapsed into busy silence as the morn- 


A SURPRISE 


1 27 


ing wore on, and when the clock struck eleven, 
neither had spoken for nearly an hour. 

Suddenly a sound of wheels, coming rapidly along 
the road, and a child’s high-pitched voice made them 
both stop and look up to listen. “ Aren’t we get- 
ting back- woodsy ! ” Joyce exclaimed, as Jack shook 
the suds from his arms, and ran to the corner of 
the kitchen to watch a buggy drive past. “ So few 
people come out this desert road, that it is really 
an event to see any one. I suppose we ought not 
to be blamed for staring.” 

“ It is Hazel Lee,” said Jack. “ I’m sure that’s 
her voice. There must be some new boarders at 
the ranch, for there’s a strange gentleman and a 
girl in the buggy with her, and she’s standing up 
in front pointing out the country to them.” 

Joyce came and looked over his shoulder. “ Yes, 
that’s Hazel,” she said. “ She’s the knowingest 
little thing I ever saw for a child of five. You 
couldn’t lose her anywhere around this region, and 
she is as good as a guide-book, for giving infor- 
mation. Mr. Ellestad was laughing the other day 
about her disputing with the White Bachelor over 
the market price of chickens. She was in the right, 
too, and proved it. She hears everything, and never 
forgets anything she hears.” 


128 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ She’s saying something now to amuse those 
people mightily,” said Jack, as a hearty laugh rang 
out above the rattle of wheels. Joyce transferred 
her gaze from the chubby, bare-headed child, lean- 
.. ing over the dashboard with eager gestures, to the 
two strangers behind her. Then she grasped Jack’s 
elbow with a little cry of astonishment. “ It’s 
Lloyd ! ” she gasped. “ Lloyd Sherman and her 
father, two days ahead of time. What shall we do ? 
Everything is in a mess, and nothing in the house 
for dinner ! ” 

That instant Hazel’s bright eyes spied them, her 
plump little finger pointed them out, and Joyce had 
no more time to consider appearances ; for, spring- 
ing over the wheel, Lloyd came running toward her, 
calling in the soft Southern accent that was the 
sweetest music to Joyce’s ears, “ Oh, you deah, 
darling old thing ! What made you move away out 
to the edge of nowhere? I thought we’d nevah, 
nevah get heah ! ” 

In the delight of seeing her again, Joyce forgot 
all about things being topsyturvy, and how little 
there was in the house for dinner. She even for- 
got to introduce Jack, who stood awkwardly wait- 
ing in the background, till Mr. Sherman, amused 



« * I thought we’d nevah, nevah get heah!’” 



A SURPRISE 


129 


at the girls , absorption in each other, stepped out 
of the buggy and came forward, laughing. 

“ It looks as if the two Jacks will have to intro- 
duce themselves,” he said, ' holding out his hand. 
Jack’s awkwardness vanished instantly at this hearty 
greeting, and a moment later he was shaking hands 
with Lloyd as easily as Joyce was welcoming Lloyd’s 
father, wholly indifferent to his outgrown overalls* 
and rolled-up shirt-sleeves. 

In the meantime, Hazel, who was g. major-general 
in her small way for comprehending situations, had, 
of her own accord, raced off to find Mrs. Ware and 
bring her to welcome the unexpected guests. 

“ And you are Aunt Emily ! ” * exclaimed Lloyd 
turning with outstretched hands as the sweet-faceu 
little woman, came toward them. “ Mothah said you 
wouldn’t mind if I called you that, because you and 
she have always been such deah friends.” 

There were tears in Mrs. Ware’s eyes as she 
returned the impulsive kiss. She had expected to 
be fond of Elizabeth’s only daughter. She had 
hoped to find her pretty and sweet, but she had 
not looked for this winsomeness, which had been 
the Little Colonel’s greatest charm since babyhood. 
With that greeting, Lloyd walked straight into her 
heart. 


130 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

The surprise ended more satisfactorily than most 
surprises do, for, while Jack was unhitching the 
horse, and Mrs. Ware was talking over old times 
with Mr. Sherman, whom she had known in her 
school-days, some one went whizzing around the 
house on a bicycle. 

“ It’s Jo, the Japanese chef from the ranch,” said 
Joyce, springing up from the front door-step where 
she sat with Lloyd, and starting back to the kitchen 
to ask his errand. 

“ Oh, let me go, too,” cried Lloyd, following. 
“ I nevah saw a Jap close enough to speak to.” 

Lloyd could not understand the pigeon-English 
with which he delivered a basket he had brought, 
but it was evidently a funny proceeding to Jo. He 
handed it over as if it had been a joke, doubling 
up like a jack-knife as he pointed to the contents, 
and laughing so contagiously that Joyce and Lloyd 
could not help laughing, too. 

“ He not velly nice pie, maybe,” giggled Jo. 
“ But you eat him allee same. Mis’ Lee say you 
not lookee for comp’nee. You not have nuzzing 
cook.” 

“ Did Mrs. Lee tell you to bring the basket, Jo ? ” 
asked Joyce. 

He shook his head. “ Mis’ Lee say take soup,” 


/* SURPRISE 


131 

pointing to the large glass jar of clearest consomme, 
smoking hot, which Joyce had just lifted from the 
basket. “ I, me, bling along the pie, for my com- 
pliment. She no care. She kind, Clistian lady.” 

“ She certainly is,” laughed Joyce. “ Now we 
can at least begin and end our dinner in style. 
That’s a lovely pie, Jo; the prettiest I ever saw.” 

The little almond eyes twinkled, as he watched 
her hold up the dainty pastry with its snowy me- 
ringue for Lloyd to admire. 

“ Aw, he not velly good pie,” protested Jo, with 
a self-conscious smirk, knowing in his soul that it 
was the perfection of pastry, and eager to hear 
Joyce say so again. “ I make-a heap much betta 
nex-a time.” 

Then, with another laugh, he whizzed away on 
his wheel, pausing under the pepper-trees to catch 
up Hazel, and take her home on his handle-bars. 

“ Joyce,” asked Lloyd, as she watched him dis- 
appear down the road, “ did you uncawk a bottle, 
or rub Aladdin’s lamp? I feel as if I had walked 
into the Arabian nights, to have a foreign-looking, 
almond-eyed chef suddenly appear out of the desert 
with consomme and pie, like a genie out of a 
bottle.” 

“It doesn’t happen every day,” laughed Joyce. 


132 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

44 I suppose that after you stopped at the ranch to 
inquire the way here, and picked up Hazel for a 
guide, that it occurred to Mrs. Lee that we were 
not looking for you until Wednesday, and that, as 
this is our wash-day, maybe we wouldn’t have a 
very elaborate dinner prepared, and she thought 
she would help us out in a neighbourly way. Jo 
enjoyed coming. When we were at the ranch, he 
was always making delicious little extra dishes for 
mamma.” 

“ Oh, I hope our coming soonah than you ex- 
pected hasn’t made a difference ! ” exclaimed Lloyd. 
4 4 1 nevah thought about yoah doing yoah own 
work. Mr. Robeson decided not to stop in New 
Mexico as long as he had planned, and, when I 
found that would put us heah two days soonah, I 
wouldn’t let Papa Jack telegraph. I’m so sorry.” 

<4 Don’t say another word about it,” interrupted 
Joyce. 44 The only difference it makes is to you 
and your father. You’ve not been received in quite 
such good style as if we’d been dressed in our best 
bibs and tuckers, but maybe you’ll feel more at 
home, dropping right down in the middle of things 
this way.” 

Lloyd felt as if she certainly had dropped down 
in the middle of things, into a most intimate knowl- 


A SURPRISE 


133 


edge of the Ware family’s affairs. For, as Joyce 
circled around, setting the table, she saw that a 
pitcher of milk, bread and butter, and some cold 
boiled potatoes, sliced ready to fry, was all that 
the pantry held for dinner. If Joyce had spoken 
one word of apology, Lloyd would have felt ex- 
ceedingly uncomfortable, but she only laughed as 
she put the consomme on the stove to keep hot, and 
set out the pie-plates on the sideboard. 

“ Lucky for you,” she said, “ that the genie came 
out of his bottle. We were spending all our energy 
in rushing through the laundry work, so that we 
could make grand preparations for to-morrow, but 
we couldn’t have equalled Jo, no matter how hard 
we tried.” 

While Joyce, talking as fast as she worked, fried 
the potatoes and sliced the bread, Jack wrung out 
the last basketful of clothes and hung them on the 
line, and then disappeared in his mother’s tent to 
make himself presentable for dinner. Lloyd had 
already had a peep into the tent that she was to 
share with Joyce, and had called her father to come 
and have a laugh with her over the green-eyed gods 
of the Dacotahs which were to guard her slumbers 
during her visit to the Wigwam. He was to leave 


134 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

that same night, and go on to the mines with Mr. 
Robeson and his party. 

Her trunk was brought out from town soon after 
dinner, and, while she partly unpacked it, putting 
the things she would need oftenest into the bureau 
drawers that Joyce had emptied for her, Jack and 
Mr. Sherman drove away to look at the horses one 
of the neighbours kept to hire to tourists. They 
came back later with a shaggy Indian pony, which 
Lloyd at once mounted for a trial ride. 

Joyce went with her on Washington as far as the 
White Bachelor’s. Lloyd was not accustomed to 
a cross saddle, or to guiding a horse by the pressure 
of the 'bridle-reins against its neck, so they rode 
slowly at first. When they were almost opposite 
the camp at Lee’s ranch, Joyce saw a familiar 
little figure trudging along the road, and wished 
with sisterly solicitude that they could avert a meet- 
ing. It was Mary on her way home from school, 
dusty and dishevelled, as usual at such times, one 
hair-ribbon lost, and the braid it had bound hang- 
ing loose and limp over her ear. Joyce was not 
near enough to see, but she felt sure that her shoe- 
laces were dangling, that there was ink on her hands 
and maybe her face, and that at least one button, 
if not more, had burst loose from the back of her 


A SURPRISE I35 

dress. She knew that the child would be over- 
whelmed with mortification if she should come face 
to face with the Princess Winsome in such a con- 
dition, when she had set her heart upon appearing 
before her in her white dress and ' isebud sash. 

Before Joyce could think of an excuse to turn 
back, Mary had settled the matter for herself. 
Hazel had stopped her at the gate to tell her of 
the unexpected arrival, so she was not wholly un- 
prepared for this sudden meeting. Darting up the 
high bank of the irrigating ditch like a little gray 
lizard, she slid down on the other side into its dry 
bed and crouched there till they passed. There had 
been no water running for several days, but it would 
have made no difference to Mary. She would have 
plunged in just the same, even if it had been neck 
deep. She simply could not let the adored Little 
Colonel see her in such a plight. 

Joyce almost laughed aloud at the frantic haste 
in which she scuttled out of sight, but seeing that 
Lloyd had been too absorbed in guiding her pony 
to notice it, she said nothing, and delayed their re- 
turn until she was sure that Mary was safe in her 
tent. So it was that when Lloyd went back to the 
Wigwam one member of the Ware family was 
arrayed in all her glory according to the original 


I36 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

programme. Mary stood out under the pepper- 
trees, washed, combed, and clad, painfully conscious 
of her festive garments, which had had so few 
occasions to be donned on the desert, and in a 
quiver of eage rness. It was not only Lloyd Sher- 
man who was coming toward her up the road. It 
was the Little Colonel, the Queen of Hearts, the 
Princess Winsome, the heroine of a hundred 
familiar tales, and the beautiful Dream-Maiden 
around whom she had woven all she knew or 
imagined of romance. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 

Lloyd sat with her elbows on the white kitchen 
table, watching Joyce at her Saturday afternoon 
baking. Five busy days had passed since her com- 
ing, and she felt almost as much at home in the 
Wigwam as any of the Wares. Phil had been 
there every day. Mrs. Lee had invited her to the 
ranch to tea, where she had met all the interesting 
boarders she had heard so much about. Jack, Hol- 
land, and Norman devoted themselves to her enter- 
tainment, and Mary followed her so adoringly, and 
copied so admiringly every gesture and intonation, 
that Holland called her “ Miss Copy-cat ” when- 
ever he spoke to her out of his mother’s hearing. 

Lloyd could not fail to see how they all looked 
up to her, and it was exceedingly pleasant to be 
petted and deferred to by everybody, and on all 
occasions. The novelty of the place had not yet 
worn off, and she enjoyed watching Joyce at her 
i37 


I38 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

housekeeping duties, and helped whenever she 
would allow it. 

“ How white and squashy that dough looks,” she 
said, as Joyce turned it deftly out on the moulding- 
board and began kneeding it. “ I’d like to put my 
fingahs in it the way you do, and pat it into shape, 
and pinch in the cawnahs. I wish you’d let me try 
to make a loaf next week. Will you, Joyce?” 

“ You may now, if you want to,” said Joyce. 
Lloyd started to her tent to wash her hands, but 
Jack’s shout out in the road stopped her as she 
reached the door. He was galloping toward the 
house as fast as Washington could carry him, and 
she waited to hear what he had to say. 

“ Get your rifle, quick, Lloyd ! ” he called, waving 
his hat excitedly. “ Chris says that the river is full 
of ducks. We can get over there and have a shot 
at them before supper-time if we hurry. I’ll catch 
your pony and saddle him while you get ready.” 

“ How perfectly splendid ! ” cried Lloyd, her eyes 
shining with pleasure. “ I’ll be ready in almost no 
time.” Then, as he galloped on toward the pas- 
ture, she turned to Joyce. “ Oh, I wish you could 
go, too!” 

“ So do I,” was the answer; " but it’s out of the 
question. We’ve only the one horse, you know, 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 39 

and I haven't any gun, and I can't leave the baking, 
so there's three good reasons. But I’m glad you 
have the chance, Lloyd. Run along and get ready. 
Don't you bother about me." 

By the time Jack came back leading Lloyd's pony, 
she was ready and waiting at the kitchen door, in 
her white sweater and brown corduroy riding-skirt. 
Her soft, light hair was gathered up under a little 
hunting-^ap, and she carried her rifle in its holster, 
ready to be fastened to her saddle. 

“Oh, I wish you were going, too, Joyce!" she 
exclaimed again, as she stood up in the stirrups and 
smoothed the folds of the divided skirt. Settling 
herself firmly in the saddle and gathering up the 
reins with one hand, she blew her an airy kiss with 
the other, and started off at the brisk pace Jack set 
for her on Washington. 

Joyce called a laughing good-bye after them, but, 
as she stood shading her eyes with her hand to 
watch them ride away, all the brightness seemed 
to die out of the mid-afternoon sunshine. 

“ How much I should have enjoyed it ! " she 
thought. “ I could ride as well as Jack if I had 
his pony, and shoot as well as Lloyd if I had her 
rifle, and would enjoy the trip to the river as much 
as either of them if I could only leave the work. 


140 the little colonel in aeizona 

But I’m like that old Camelback Mountain over 
there. Fll never get away. It will be this way 
all the rest of my life.” 

Through the blur of tears that dimmed her sight 
a moment, the old mountain looked more hopeless 
than ever. She turned and went into the house 
to escape the sight of it. Presently, when the loaves 
were in the oven, and she had nothing to do but 
watch the baking, she brought her portfolio out 
to the kitchen and began looking through it for a 
sketch she had promised to show to Lloyd. It was 
the first time she had opened the portfolio since she 
had left Plainsville, and the sight of its contents 
made her fingers tingle. While she glanced over 
the sketches she had taken such pleasure in making, 
both in water-colours and pen and ink, her mother 
came into the kitchen. 

“ Joyce,” she said, briskly, “ don’t you suppose 
we could afford some cookies while the oven is hot? 
I haven’t baked anything for so long that I believe 
it would do me good to stir around in the kitchen 
awhile. I’ll make some gingersnaps, and cut them 
out in fancy shapes, with a boy and girl apiece for 
the children, as I always used to make. Are there 
any raisins for the eyes and mouths ? ” 

It seemed so much like old times that Joyce 


n\ THE DESERT OF WAITING 14 1 

sprang up to give her mother a squeeze. “ That 
will be lovely ! ” she cried, heartily. “ Here’s an 
apron, and I’ll beat the eggs and help you.” 

“ No, I want to do it all myself,” Mrs. Ware 
protested. “ And I want you to take your sketch- 
ing outfit, and go down to the clump of willow's 
where Jack put the rustic bench for me. There are 
lovely reflections in the irrigating canal now, and 
the shadows are so soft that you ought to get a 
very pretty picture. You haven’t drawn any since 
we left home, and I’m afraid your hand will forget 
its cunning if you never practise.” 

“ What’s the use,” was on the tip of Joyce’s 
tongue, but she could not dim the smile on her 
mother’s face by her own hopeless mood, and pres- 
ently she took her box of water-colours and started 
off to the seat under the willows. Mary and Nor- 
man, like two muddy little beavers, were using their 
Saturday afternoon playtime in building a dam 
across the lateral that watered the side yard. Joyce 
stood watching them a moment. 

“ What’s the use of your doing that ? ” she asked, 
impatiently. “ It can’t stay there. You’ll have to 
tear it down when you stop playing, and then 
there’ll be all your work for nothing.” 

“We don’t care, do we, Norman?” answered 


THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


Mary, cheerfully. “ It’s fun while we’re doing it, 
isn’t it, Norman ? ” 

As Joyce walked on, Mary’s lively chatter fol- 
lowed her, and she could hear her mother singing 
as she moved about the kitchen. She was glad that 
they were all happy, but somehow it irritated her 
to feel that she was the only discontented one. It 
made her lonely. She opened her box and spread 
out her material, but she was in no mood for paint- 
ing. She couldn’t get the right shade of green in 
the willows, and the reflections in the water were 
blotchy. 

“ It’s no use to try,” she said, finally. “ Mamma 
was right. My hand has already lost its cunning.” 

Leaning back on the rustic seat, she began idly 
tracing profiles on the paper, scarcely conscious of 
what she was doing. People’s faces at first, then 
the outline of Camelback Mountain. Abstractedly, 
time after time, she traced it with slow sweeps of 
her brush until more than a score of kneeling camels 
looked back at her from the sheet of paper. 

Presently a cough just behind her aroused her 
from her fit of abstraction, and, turning hastily, 
she saw Mr. Ellestad, the old Norwegian, coming 
toward her along the little path from the house. 
He had been almost a daily visitor at the Wigwam 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 43 

since they moved into it, not always coming in, 
usually stopping for only a moment’s chat under 
the pepper-trees, as he strolled by. But several 
times he had spent an entire morning with them, 
reading aloud, while Joyce ironed and her mother 
sewed, and Norman built block houses on the floor 
beside them. Once he had taken tea with them. 
He rarely came without bringing a book or a new 
magazine, or something of interest. And even 
when he was empty-handed, his unfailing cheerful- 
ness made his visits a benefaction. Mary and Nor- 
man called him “ Uncle Jan,” such a feeling of kin- 
ship had grown up between them. 

“ Mary said you were here,” he began, in his 
quaint, hesitating fashion, “ so I came to find you. 
I have finished my legend at last, — the legend I 
have made about Camelback Mountain. You know 
I have always insisted that there should be one, and 
as tradition has failed to hand one down to us, 
the task of manufacturing one has haunted me for 
three winters. Always, it seems, the old mountain 
has something to say to me whenever I look at 
it, something I failed to understand. But at last 1 
have interpreted its message to mankind.” 

With a hearty greeting, Joyce moved over to 
make room for him upon the bench, and, as he sat 


144 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

down, he saw the sheet of paper on her lap cov- 
ered with the repeated outlines of the old moun- 
tain. 

“ Ah ! It has been speaking to you also ! ” he 
exclaimed. “ What did it say ? ” 

“ Just one word,” answered Joyce, — “ ‘ Hope- 
less, l’ Everything out here is hopeless. It's 
useless to try to do anything or be anything. If 
fate has brought you here, kneel down and give 
up. No use to struggle, no use to hope. You’ll 
never get away.” 

He started forward eagerly. “ At first, yes, that 
is what I thought it said to me. But now I know 
it was only the echo of my own bitter mood I heard. 
But it is a mistake; that is not its message. Lis- 
ten ! I want to read it to you.” 

He took a note-book from his pocket. “ Of 
course, it is crude yet. This is only the first draft. 
I shall polish it and study every word, and fit the 
sentences into place until the thought is crystallized 
as a real legend should be, to be handed down to 
future generations. Then people will not suspect 
that it is a home-made thing, spun from the fancy 
of one Jan Ellestad, a simple old Norwegian, who 
had no other legacy to leave the world he loved. 
This is it: 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 145 

<( ‘ Once upon a time, a caravan set out across 
the desert, laden with merchandise for a far-dis- 
tant market. Some of the camels bore in their 
packs wine-skins that held the richest vintage of 
the Orient. Some bore tapestries, and some carried 
dyestuffs and the silken fruits of the loom. On 
Shapur’s camel was a heavy load of salt. 

“ ‘ The hope of each merchant was to reach the 
City of his Desire before the Golden Gate should 
close. There were other gates by which they might 
enter, but this one, opening once a year to admit 
the visiting rajahs from the sister cities, afforded a 
rare opportunity to those fortunate enough to arrive 
at the same time. It was the privilege of any who 
might fall in with the royal retinue to follow in its 
train to the ruling rajah’s palace, and gain access 
to its courtyard. And wares displayed there for 
sale often brought fabulous sums, a hundredfold 
greater sometimes than when offered in the open 
market. 

“ ‘ Only to a privileged few would the Golden 
Gate ever swing open at any other time. It would 
turn on its hinges for any one sent at a king’s be- 
hest, or any one bearing something so rare and 
precious that only princes could purchase. No 
common vender could hope to pass its shining portal 


I46 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

save in the rear of the train that yearly followed 
the rajahs. 

“ * So they urged their beasts with all diligence. 
Foremost in the caravan, and most zealous of all, 
was Shapur. In his heart burned the desire to be 
first to enter the Golden Gate, and the first one at 
the palace with his wares. But, half-way across the 
desert, as they paused at an oasis to rest, a dire 
lameness fell upon his camel, and it sank upon the 
sand. In vain he urged it to continue its journey. 
The poor beast could not rise under its great load. 

“ ‘ Sack by sack he lessened its burden, throwing 
it off grudgingly and with sighs, for he was minded 
to lose as little as possible of his prospective for- 
tune. But even rid of its entire load, the camel 
could not rise, and Shapur was forced to let his 
companions go on without him. 

“ ‘ For long days and nights he watched beside 
his camel, bringing it water from the fountain and 
feeding it with the herbage of the oasis, and at last 
was rewarded by seeing it struggle to its feet and 
take a few limping steps. In his distress of mind 
at being left behind by the caravan, he had not 
noticed where he had thrown the load. A tiny rill, 
trickling down from the fountain, had run through 
the sacks and dissolved the salt, and when he went 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 47 

to gather up his load, only a paltry portion was left, 
a single sackful. 

“ ‘ “ Now, Allah has indeed forgotten me ! ” he 
cried, and cursing the day that he was bom, he 
rent his mantle, and beat upon his breast. Even 
if his camel were able to set out across the desert, 
it would be useless to seek a market now that he 
had no merchandise. So he sat on the ground, his 
head bowed in his hands. Water there was for 
him to drink, and the fruit of the date-palm, and 
the cooling shade of many trees, but he counted 
them as naught. A fever of unrest consumed him. 
A baffled ambition bowed his head in the dust. 

“ ‘ When he looked at his poor camel kneeling 
in the sand, he cried out : “ Ah, woe is me ! Of 
all created things, I am most miserable! Of all 
dooms mine is the most unjust! Why should I, 
with life beating strong in my veins, and ambition 
like a burning simoom in my breast, be left here 
helpless on the sands, where I can achieve nothing, 
and can make no progress toward the City of my 
Desire? ” 

“ ‘ One day, as he sat thus under the palms, a 
bee buzzed about him. He brushed it away, but it 
returned so persistently that he looked up with lan- 
guid interest. “ Where there are bees, there must 


1 48 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

be honey,” he said. “ If there be ally sweetness in 
this desert, better that I should go in its quest than 
sit here bewailing my fate.” 

“ 4 Leaving the camel browsing by the fountain, 
he followed the bee. For many miles he pursued 
it, till far in the distance he beheld the palm-trees 
of another oasis. He quickened his steps, for an 
odour rare as the perfumes of Paradise floated out 
to meet him. The bee had led him to the Rose 
Garden of Omar. 

“ ‘ Now Omar was an alchemist, a sage with 
the miraculous power of transmuting the most com- 
mon things of earth into something precious. The 
fame of his skill had travelled to far countries. So 
many pilgrims sought him to beg his wizard touch 
that the question, “ Where is the house of Omar ? ” 
was heard daily at the gates of the city. But for 
a generation that question had remained unan- 
swered. No man knew the place of the house of 
Omar, since he had taken upon himself the life of 
a hermit. Somewhere, they knew, in the solitude 
of the desert, he was practising the mysteries of 
his art, and probing deeper into its secrets, but no 
one could point to the path leading thither. Only 
the bees knew, and, following the bee, Shapur found 
himself in the old alchemist’s presence. 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 


149 


“ * Now Shapur was a youth of gracious mien, 
and pleasing withal. With straightforward speech, 
he told his story, and Omar, who could read the 
minds of men as readily as unrolled parchments, was 
touched by his tale. He bade him come in and be 
his guest until sundown. 

“ ‘ So Shapur sat at his board and shared his 
bread, and rose refreshed by his wine and his wise 
words. And at parting, the old man said, with a 
keen glance int6 his eyes : “ Thou thinkest that 
because I am Omar, with the power to transmute 
all common things to precious ones, how easily I 
could take the remnant of salt that is still left to 
thee in thy sack and change it into gold. Then 
couldst thou go joyfully on to the City of thy De- 
sire, as soon as thy camel is able to carry thee, far 
richer for thy delay.” 

“ ‘ Shapur’s heart gave a bound of hope, for that 
is truly what he had been thinking. But at the next 
words it sank. 

“ ‘ “ Nay, Shapur, each man must be his own al- 
chemist. Believe me, for thee the desert holds a 
greater opportunity than kings’ houses could offer. 
Give me but thy patient service in this time of 
waiting, and I will share such secrets with thee 
:hat ? when thou dost finally win to the Golden Gate, 


150 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

it shall be with wares that shall gain for thee a 
royal entrance.” 

“ ‘ Then Shapur went back to his camel, and, in 
the cool of the evening, urged it to its feet, and led 
it slowly across the sands. And because it could 
bear no burden, he lifted the remaining sack of 
salt to his own back, and carried it on his shoulders 
all the way. When the moon shone white and full 
hi the zenith over the Rose Garden of Omar, he 
knocked at the gate, calling : “ Here am I, Omar, 
at thy bidding, and here is the remnant of my salt. 
All that I have left I bring to thee, and stand ready 
now to yield my patient serviced 

“ ‘ Then Omar bade him lead his camel to the 
fountain, and leave him to browse on the herbage 
around it. Pointing to a row of great stone jars, 
he said : “ There is thy work. Every morning 
before sunrise, they must be filled with rose-petals, 
plucked from the myriad roses of the garden, and 
the petals covered with water from the fountain.” 

“ ‘ “ A task for poets,” thought Shapur, as he 
began. “ What more delightful than to stand in the 
moonlighted garden and pluck the velvet leaves.” 
But after awhile the thorns tore his hands, and the 
rustle and hiss underfoot betrayed the presence of 
serpents, and sleep weighed heavily upon his eye- 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 


151 

lids. It grew monotonous, standing hour after 
hour, stripping the rose-leaves from the calyxes 
until thousands and thousands and thousands had 
been dropped into the great jars. The very sweet- 
ness of the task began to cloy upon him. 

“ ‘ When the stars had faded and the east begun 
to brighten, old Omar came out. “ ’Tis well,” he 
said. “ Now break thy fast, and then to slumber 
with thee, to prepare for another sleepless night.”* 

“ ‘ So long months went by, till it seemed to 
Shapur that the garden must surely become ex- 
hausted. But for every rose he plucked, two 
bloomed in its stead, and night after night he filled 
the jars. 

“ ‘ Still he was learning no secrets, and he asked 
himself questions sometimes. Was he not wasting 
his life? Would it not have been better to have 
waited by the other fountain until some caravan 
passed by that would carry him out of the solitude 
to the dwellings of men? What opportunity was 
the desert offering him greater than kings’ houses 
could give? 

“ 4 And ever the thorns tore him more sorely, 
and the lonely silence of the nights weighed upon 
him. Many a time he would have left his task 
had not the snadowy form of his camel, kneeling 


152 THE LI TILE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

outside by the fountain, seemed to whisper to him 
through the starlight : “ Patience, Shapur, pa- 

tience ! ” 

“ ‘ Once, far in the distance, he saw the black 
outline of a distant caravan passing along the hori- 
zon where day was beginning to break. He did no 
more work until it had passed from sight. Gazing 
after it with a fierce longing to follow, he pictured 
the scenes it was moving toward, — the gilded 
minarets of the mosques, the deep-toned ringing of 
bells, the cries of the populace, and all the life and 
stir of the market-place. When the shadowy pro- 
cession had passed, the great silence of the desert 
smote him like a pain. 

“ ‘ Again looking out, he saw his faithful camel, 
and again it seemed to whisper : “ Patience, Sha- 
pur, patience! So thou, too, shalt fare forth to the 
City of thy Desire.” 

“ ‘ One day in the waning of summer, Omar 
called him into a room in which he had never been 
before. “ Now at last,” said he, “ hast thou proven 
thyself worthy to be the sharer of my secrets. 
Come! I will show thee! Thus are the roses dis- 
tilled, and thus is gathered up the precious oil float- 
ing on the tops of the vessels. 

“ ‘ “ Seest thou this tiny vial ? It weighs but the 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 53 

weight of one rupee, but it took the sweetness of 
two hundred thousand roses to make the attar it 
contains, and so costly is it that only princes may 
purchase. It is worth more than thy entire load 
of salt that was washed away at the fountain.” 

“ ‘ Shapur worked diligently at the new task till 
there came a day when Omar said to him : “ Well 
done, Shapur! Behold the gift of the desert, its 
reward for thy patient service in its solitude ! ” 

“ ‘ He placed in Shapur’s hands a crystal vase, 
sealed with a seal and filled with the precious attar. 

“ ‘ “ Wherever thou goest this sweetness will open 
for thee a way and win for thee a welcome. Thou 
earnest into the desert a vender of salt. Thou shalt 
go forth an apostle of my alchemy. Wherever thou 
seest a heart bowed down in some Desert of Wait- 
ing, thou shalt whisper to it : ‘ Patience ! Here, 
if thou wilt, in these arid sands, thou rnayst find 
thy Garden of Omar, and from these daily tasks 
that prick thee sorest distil some precious attar to 
sweeten all life ! ’ So, like the bee that led thee to 
my teaching, shalt thou lead others to hope.” 

“ 4 Then Shapur went forth with the crystal vase, 
and his camel, healed in the long time of waiting, 
bore him swiftly across the sands to the City of 
his Desire. The Golden Gate, that would not have 


154 THE little colonel in Arizona 

opened to the vender of salt, swung wide for the 
Apostle of Omar. 

“ 4 Princes brought their pearls to exchange for 
his attar, and everywhere he went its sweetness 
opened for him a way and won for him a welcome. 
Wherever he saw a heart bowed down in some 
Desert of Waiting, he whispered Omar’s words and 
tarried to teach Omar’s alchemy, that from the 
commonest experiences of life may be distilled its 
greatest blessings. 

44 4 At his death, in order that men might not 
forget, he willed that his tomb should be made 
at a place where all caravans passed. There, at the 
crossing of the highways, he caused to be cut in 
stone that emblem of patience, the camel, kneeling 
on the sand. And it bore this inscription, which no 
one could fail to see, as he toiled past toward the 
City of his Desire: 

44 4 44 Patience ! Here, if thou wilt, on these arid 
sands, thou mayst find thy Garden of Omar, and 
even from the daily tasks which prick thee sorest 
mayst distil some precious attar to bless thee and 
thy fellow man.” 

44 4 A thousand moons waxed and waned above 
it, then a thousand, thousand more, and there arose 
a generation with restless hearts, who set their faces 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 55 

ever westward, following the sun toward a greater 
City of Desire. Strange seas they classed, new 
coasts they came upon. Some were satisfied with 
the fair valleys that tempted them to tarry, and 
built them homes where the fruitful hills whispered 
stay. But always the sons of Shapur pushed ahead, 
to pitch their tents a day’s march nearer the City 
of their Desire, nearer the Golden Gate, which 
opened every sunset to let the royal Rajah of the 
Day pass through. Like a mirage that vision lured 
them on, showing them a dream gate of oppor- 
tunity, always just ahead, yet ever out of reach. 

“ ‘ As in the days of Shapur, so it was in the days 
of his sons. There were those who fell by the way, 
and, losing all that made life dear, cried out as the 
caravan passed on without them that Allah had for- 
gotten them; and they cursed the day that they 
were born, and laid hopeless heads in the dust. 

“ ‘ But Allah, the merciful, who from the be- 
ginning knew what Desert of Waiting must lie 
between every son of Shapur and the City of his 
Desire, had long before stretched out His hand over 
one of the mountains of His continent. With earth- 
quake shock it sank before Him. With countless 
hammer-strokes of hail and rain-drops, and with 
gleaming rills he chiselled it, till, as the centuries 


156 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

rolled by, it took the semblance of that symbol of 
patience, a camel, kneeling there at the passing of 
the ways. And to every heart bowed down and 
hopeless, it whispers daily its message of cheer: 

“ ‘ “ Patience! Thou earnest into the desert a 
vender of salt, thou mayst go forth an Alchemist, 
distilling from Life's tasks and sorrows such pre- 
cious attar in thy soul that its sweetness shall win 
for thee a welcome wherever thou goest, and a royal 
entrance into the City of thy Desire! ” ’ ” 

There was a long silence when ,Mr. Ellestad 
closed his note-book. Joyce had turned her face 
away to watch the mountain while he read, so he 
could not see whether the little tale pleased her or 
not. But suddenly a tear splashed down on the 
paper in her lap, and she drew her hand hastily 
across her eyes. 

“ You see, it seems as if you’d written that just 
for me,” she said, trying to laugh. “ I think it’s 
beautiful! If ever there was a heart bowed down 
in a desert of waiting, I was that one when I came 
out here this afternoon. But you have given a new 
meaning to the mountain, Mr. Ellestad. How did 
you ever happen to think of it all ? ” 

“ A line from Sadi, one of the Persian poets, 
started me/’ he answered. " ' Thy alchemist, Con- 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 57 

tentment be/ It grew out of that — that and my 
own unrest and despondency. 5 ' 

“ Look ! 55 she cried, excitedly. “ Do you see 
that ? A bee ! A bee buzzing around my head, 
as it did Shapur’s, and I can’t drive him away!” 

She flapped at it with her handkerchief. “ Oh, 
there it goes now. I wonder where it would lead 
us if we could follow it ? 55 

“ Probably to some neighbour’s almond orchard,” 
answered Mr. Ellestad. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” sighed Joyce. “ I wish that there 
was a bee that I could follow, and a real rose garden 
that I could find. It sounds so beautiful and easy 
to say, ‘ Out of life’s tasks and sorrows distil a 
precious attar in thy soul,’ and I’d like to, heaven 
knows, but, when it comes to the point, how is one 
actually to go about it? If it were something that 
I could do with my hands, I’d attempt it gladly, 
no matter how hard; but doing the things in an 
allegory is like trying to take hold of the girl in 
the mirror. You can see her plainly enough, but 
you can’t touch her. I used to feel that way about 
‘ Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and think that if I only had 
a real pack on my back, as Christian had, and could 
start off on a real road, that I could be sure of what 
I was doing and the progress I was making. I 


158 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

wish you’d tell me how to begin really living up 
to your iegend. ,, 

She spoke lightly, but there was a wistful glance 
in the laughing eyes she turned toward him. 

“ You will first have to tell me what is the City 
of your Desire.” 

“ Oh, to be an artist! It has always been that. 
To paint beautiful pictures that will live long after 
I am gone, and will make people better and happier. 
Then the work itself would be such a joy to me. 
Ever since I have been old enough to realize that 
I will have to do something to earn my own living. 
Eve hoped that I could do it in that way. I have 
had lessons from the best teachers we could get in 
Plainsville, and Cousin Kate took me to the finest 
art galleries in Europe, and promised to send me 
to the Art League in New York if I finished my 
high school course creditably. 

“ But we had to come out here, and that ended 
everything. I can’t help saying, like Shapur, £ Why 
should I, with life beating strong in my veins, and 
ambition like a burning simoom in my breast, be 
left here helpless on the sands, where I can achieve 
nothing and make no progress toward the City of 
my Desire ? ’ It seems especially hard to have all 
this precious time wasted, when I had counted so 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING 1 59 

much on the money I expected to earn, — enough 
to keep mamma comfortable when she grows old, 
and to give the other children all sorts of advan- 
tages.” 

“ And you do not believe that these ‘ arid sands * 
hold anything for you?” said Mr. Ellestad. 

Joyce shook her head. 

“ It takes something more than a trained hand 
and a disciplined eye to make an artist,” he an- 
swered, slowly. “ Did you ever think that it is 
the soul that has to be educated ? That the greater 
the man behind the brush, the greater the picture 
will be? Moses had his Midian before he was 
worthy to be ‘ Lawgiver 9 to his people. Israel had 
forty years of wilderness-wandering before it was 
fit for its Promised Land. David was trained for 
kingship, not in courts, but on the hillsides with 
his flocks. 

“ This is the secret of Omar’s alchemy, to gather 
something from every person we meet, from every 
experience life brings us, as Omar gathered some- 
thing from the heart of every rose, and out of the 
wide knowledge thus gained, of human weaknesses 
and human needs, to distil in our own hearts the 
precious oil of sympathy. That is the attar that will 
win for us a welcome wherever we go, — sympathy. 


160 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

The quick insight and deep understanding that help 
us to interpret people. And nobody fills his crystal 
vase with it until he has been pricked by the world’s 
disappointments and bowed by its tasks. No mas- 
terpiece was ever painted without it. A man may 
become a fine copyist, but he can never make any- 
thing live on canvas until he has first lived deeply 
himself. 

“ Do not think your days wasted, little friend. 
Where could you learn such lessons of patience and 
courage as here on this desert where so many come 
to die? Where could you grow stronger than in 
the faithful doing of your commonplace duties, here 
at home, where they all need you and lean upon 
you? 

“ You do not realize that, if you could go on 
now to the City of your Desire, the little you have 
to offer the world would put you in the rank of 
a common vender of salt, — you could only fol- 
low in the train of others. Is not waiting worth 
while, if it shall give you wares with which to win 
a royal entrance ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Joyce, in a quick half-whis- 
per, as the musical voice paused. She was looking 
away toward the mountain with a rapt expression 
on her uplifted face, as of one who sees visions. All 


IN THE DESERT OF WAITING l6l 

the discontent had vanished now. It was glowing 
with hope and purpose. 

As Mr. Ellestad rose to go, she turned impul- 
sively to thrust both outstretched hands into his. 
“ I can never thank you enough ! ” she exclaimed. 
“ Old Camelback will be a constant inspiration' to 
me after this instead of an emblem of hopelessness. 
Please come in and read the legend to mamma! 
And may I copy it sometime? Always now I shall 
think of you as Omar . I shall call you that in my 
thoughts.” J* 

“ Thank you, little friend,” he said, softly, as they 
walked on toward the house. “ I have failed to 
accomplish many things in life that I had hoped 
to do, but the thought that one discouraged soul 
has called me its Omar makes me feel that I have 
not lived wholly in vain.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


Lloyd’s duck hunt 

Meanwhile, Lloyd and Jack, riding along 
toward the river, were enjoying, every moment of 
the sunny afternoon. Leaving the road at the 
White Bachelor’s, they followed the trail across 
a strip of desert. 

“ Look out for gopher holes,” called Jack. “ If 
your horse should happen to stumble into one, 
you’ll be over his head before you can say ‘ scat.’ 
The little pests burrow everywhere.” 

As he spoke, his pony sprang to one side of the 
road with a suddenness that nearly threw him from 
the saddle. 

“ You old goose ! ” he exclaimed. “ That was 
nothing but a stick you shied at. But it does look 
remarkably like a snake, doesn’t it, Lloyd? That’s 
the way with all these ponies. They’re always on 
the watch for rattlers, and they’ll shy at anything 
that looks the least bit like one.” 

162 




ENJOYING EVERY MOMENT OF THE SUNNY AFTERNOON 







r LOYD'S DUCK HUNT 163 

i I die. t mov that we’d find snakes out heah in 
this dry sand,” said Lloyd, in surprise. 

“ Yes, you’ll find almost anything if you know 
just where to look, — a . *ole menagerie. There 
are owls and snakes living together in the same 
holes. Wait! It looks as if there might be a nest 
of them yonder. I’ll stir it up and see.” 

Leaving the trail, he rode rp between a clump of 
sage-brush 'and greasewood bushes, and . threw his 
hat with all his force toward a hole beneath them. A 
great, sleepy owl fluttered out, aud sailed off with 
a slow flapping of wings to the shelter of a stubby 
mesquit farther on. 

“If we had time to dig inlo the nest, we’d find 
a snake in there, v declared Jack, . hanging down 
from his saddle, cowboy fashion, to pick up his hat 
from the ground as he .rode along. He could feel 
that Lloyd admired easy grace with which he 
did it, and that she was interested in the strange 
things he had to tell about the desert. He was glad 
that Phil was not along, for Phil, with his three 
years’ advantage in age and six inches in height, 
had a way of monopolizing attention that made 
Jack appear very young and insignificant. He re- 
sented being made to feel like a little boy when he 


164 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

was almost a year older than Lloyd and several 
inches taller. 

This was the first time he had been out alone 
with her, and the first time that he had had a chance 
to show her that he could be entertaining when he 
tried. Joyce and Mary and Phil had always had so 
much to say that he had kept in the background. 

The sun on Lloyd’s hair made it gleam like sun- 
shine itself, tucked up under her jaunty little hunt- 
ing-cap. The exercise was bringing a deeper col- 
our to the delicate wild-rose pink of her cheeks, 
and, as her eyes smiled mischievously up at him 
whenever he told some tale that seemed almost too 
big to believe, he decided that she was quite the 
nicest girl he had ever known, except Joyce, and 
fully as agreeable to go hunting with as any boy. 

In that short trip he pointed out more strange 
things than she could have seen in a whole after- 
noon in the streets of Paris or London. There were 
the wonderful tiny trap-doors leading down into 
the silk-lined tunnels of the cunning trap-door 
spiders ; the hairy tarantulas ; the lizards ; the bur- 
rows of the jack-rabbits; a trail made by the feet 
of coyotes on their way to the White Bachelor’s 
poultry-yard. 

Then he pointed out a great cactus, sixty feet 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 


165 

high, branched like a candelabrum, and told her 
that the thorny trunk is like a great sealed cup, 
full of the purest water, and that more than one 
traveller has saved his life by boring into one of 
these desert wells when he was perishing of thirst 

He told her how the Navajo Indians hunt the 
prairie-dogs, sticking up a piece of mirror at the 
entrance to the mound, and lying in wait for the 
little creature to come out. When it meets its own 
reflection, and sees what it supposes to be a strange 
prairie-dog mocking it at its own front door, it 
hurries out to fight, and the Indian pins it to the 
ground with his arrow. 

“ Now, we’ll have to go faster and make up for 
lost time,” he exclaimed, as they left the. desert 
and turned into a road leading to Tempe, a little 
town several miles away on Salt River. “ There 
is an old ruin near this road, where the Indians 
had a fort of some kind, that I’d like to show you, 
but it’s getting late, and we’d better hurry on to 
the river. Let’s gallop.” 

Lloyd had enjoyed many a swift ride, but none 
that had been so exhilarating as this. The pure, 
fresh air blowing over the desert was unlike any 
she had ever breathed before, it seemed so much 
purer and more life-giving. It was a joy just to 


Z66 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

be alive on such a. day and in such a place. She 
felt that she knew some of the delight a bird must 
feel winging its wild, free way through the track- 
less sky. 

“ I’d like to show you the town, too,” Jack said, 
as they came to the ford in the river leading over 
to Tempe. “ The Mexican quarter is so foreign- 
looking. But, as we’re out to kill, we’ll just keep 
on this side, and follow the river up-stream a piece. 
Chris said that is where he saw the ducks.” 

“ Oh, I’d be the proudest thing that evah walked,” 
she exclaimed, “ if I could only shoot one. A pea- 
cock couldn’t hold a candle to me. It would be 
worth the trip to Arizona just to do that, if I nevah 
did anothah thing. How I could crow ovah Mal- 
colm and Rob. Oh, Jack, you haven’t any idea 
how much I want to ! ” 

“ You shall have first pop at them,” Jack an- 
swered. “ You don’t stand as good a show with 
that little rifle as I do. You’ll have to wait till you 
get up just as close as possible.” 

Compared to the broad Ohio, which Lloyd was 
accustomed to seeing, Salt River did not look much 
wider than a creek. She was in a quiver of excite- 
ment when they turned the bend, and suddenly 
came in sight of the beautiful water-fowl. The 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 167 

ponies, trained to stand perfectly still wherever they 
were left, came to a sudden halt as the two excited 
hunters sprang off, and crept stealthily along the 
bank. 

“ They’ll see your white sweater,” cautioned Jack. 
“ Stoop down, and sneak in behind the bushes.” 

“ Then I’d bettah wait heah,” returned Lloyd, 
“ and you go on. I don’t believe I could hit a 
bahn doah now, I’m in such a shake. I must have 
the 4 buck ague.’ If I bang into them, I’ll just 
frighten them all away, and you won’t get a shot.” 

It was a temptation to Jack to do as she urged. 
This was the first sight he had had of a duck since he 
had owned a gun, and the glint of the iridescent 
feathers as the pretty creatures circled and dived 
in the water made him tingle with the hunters’ 
thrill. 

“ No,” he exclaimed, as she insisted. “ I brought 
you out here to shoot a duck, and I don’t want to 
take you back without one.” 

“ Then I’ll get down and wiggle along in the 
sand so they can’t see me,” said Lloyd, “ just like 
‘ Lawless Dick, the Half-breed Huntah.’ Isn’t this 
fun!” 

Crawling stealthily through the greasewood 
bushes, they crept inch by inch nearer the water, 


1 68 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

fairly holding their breath with excitement. Then 
Lloyd, rising to her knees, levelled her rifle to take 
aim. But her hands shook, and, lowering it, she 
turned to Jack, whispering, “ I’m suah I’ll miss, and 
spoil yoah chance. You shoot!” 

“Aw, go on!” said Jack, roughly, forgetting, 
in his excitement, that he was not speaking to a 
boy. “ Don’t be a goose! You can hit one if you 
try!” 

The commanding tone irritated Lloyd, but it 
seemed to steady her nerves, for, flashing an indig- 
nant glance at him, she raised her rifle again, and 
aimed it with deliberate coolness. Bang ! 

Jack, who knelt just beside her, prepared to fire 
the instant her shot should send a whir of wings 
into the air, gave a wild whoop, and dropped his 
gun. 

“ Hi! ” he yelled. “ You’ve hit it! See it float- 
ing over there! Wait a minute. I’ll get it for 
you!” 

Crashing through the bushes he ran back to where 
Washington stood waiting, and, swinging himself 
into the saddle, spurred him down the bank. But 
the pony, who had never balked before with him 
at any ford, seemed unwilling to go in. 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 169 

“ Hurry up, you old slow-poke ! ” called Jack. 
Ki Don’t you see it’s getting away ? ” 

He succeeded in urging him into the middle of 
the river, where the water was almost up to the 
pony’s body, but half-way across, the pony began 
to plunge, and turned abruptly about. Then his 
hind feet seemed to give way, and he went suddenly 
back on his haunches. At the same instant a gruff 
voice called from the bank, “ Come out of that, 
you little fool! Don’t you know there’s quicksand 
there? Head your cayuse down the river! Quick! 
Spur him up! Do you want to drown your- 
self?” 

With a desperate plunge and a flounder or two, 
the pony freed himself, and struggled back to safe 
ground, past the treacherous quicksand. As Jack 
reached the bank he saw the White Bachelor peer- 
ing at him from the back of his white horse. He 
was evidently on the same mission, for he wore a 
hunting-coat, as brown and weather-beaten as his 
swarthy face, and carried an old gun on his shoul- 
der. 

“ You’d have been sucked clean through to China, 
if you’d gone much farther over,” he said, crossly. 
“ That’s one of the worst places in the river.” Al- 
though his tone was savage, there was a pleasant 


I/O THE LITTLE COLONEL I Ar ARIZONA 

gleam in his eyes as he added : “ Too bad you’ve 
lost your duck.” 

“ Haven’t lost it yet,” said Jack, with a glance 
toward the dark object floating rapidly down-stream. 
He kicked off his boots as he spoke. 

“ Oh, Jack, please don’t go in after it! ” begged 
Lloyd. “ It isn’t worth such a risk.” The word 
quicksand had frightened her, for she had heard 
much of the dangerous spots in the rivers of this 
region. 

“Bound to have it!” called Jack, “for you 
might not get another shot, and I’m bound not to 
take yOu back home without one.” 

Striking out into the water regardless of his 
sweater and heavy corduroy trousers, he paddled 
after it. By this time the entire flock was out of 
sight, and when Jack emerged from the river drip- 
ping like a water-dog, the man remarked, coolly: 
“ Well, your hunt’s up for this day, Buddy. Better 
skip home and hang yourself up to dry, or you’ll 
be having pneumonia. Aren’t you one of the kids 
that lives at that place where they’ve got Ware’s 
Wigwam painted on the post, and all sorts of out- 
landish Aggers on the tents ? ” 

“ Yes,” acknowledged Jack, in a surly tone, re- 
senting the name kid. Then, remembering the fate 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 


i;i 


that the man’s warning had saved him from, he 
added, gratefully : “ It was lucky for me you yelled 
out quicksand just when you did, for I was so bent 
on getting that duck that I’d have kept on trying, 
no matter how the pony cut up. I thought he had 
taken a stubborn spell, and wanted to balk at the 
water. I’m a thousand times obliged. Here, Lloyd,” 
he added. “ Here’s your trophy. We’ll hang it 
on your saddle.” 

He held out the fowl, a beautifully marked drake, 
but she drew back with a little shrug of the shoul- 
ders. 

“ Oh, mercy, no ! ” she answered. “ I wouldn’t 
touch it for the world ! ” 

“ Haw ! Haw ! ” roared the White Bachelor, who 
had watched her shrinking gesture with a grin. 
“ Afraid of a dead duck ! ” 

“ I’m not ! ” she declared, turning on him, indig- 
nantly. “ I’m not afraid of anything! But I just 
can’t beah to touch dead things, especially with fu’h 
or feathahs on them'.. Ugh! It neahly makes me 
sick to think about it ! ” 

“ Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch,” said the 
man, in an amused tone, after a long stare. She 
seemed to be a strange species of womankind, with 
which he was unacquainted. Then, after another 


172 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

prolonged stare, he swung his heels against the sides 
of his old white horse as a signal to move, and 
ambled slowly off, talking to himself as he went. 

“ Meddlesome old thing ! ” muttered Lloyd, cast- 
ing an indignant glance after him. “ It’s none of 
his business. I don’t see what he wanted to poke 
in for.” 

“ It was lucky for me that he did,” answered Jack. 
“ I never once thought of quicksand. Queer that 
I didn’t, too, when I’ve heard so much about it ever 
since I came. It’s all through Southern Arizona, 
and more than one man has lost his life blundering 
into it.” 

Lloyd grew serious as she realized the danger 
he had escaped. “ It was mighty brave of you to 
go back into the rivah aftah you came so neah being 
drowned, and just fo’ my pleasuah — just because 
you knew I wanted that duck. I’ll remembah it 
always of you, Jack.” 

“ Oh, that’s nothing,” he answered, carelessly, 
blushing to the roots of his wet hair. “ When I once 
start out to get a thing, I hate to be beaten. I’d 
have swam all the way to Jericho rather than let 
it get away. But I hope you won’t always think 
of me as sloshing around in the water, though I 
suppose you can’t help that, for you know the first 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 173 

time you saw me I was over my elbows in a wash- 
tub.” 

“ That’s so,” laughed Lloyd. “ But you weren’t 
quite as wet then as you are now. It’s a pity you 
can’t wring yourself as dry as you did those towels.” 

While Jack was tugging into his boots, she went 
back to the bushes for the gun he had dropped. 
Then she stood drawing out the loads while he tied 
the duck to his saddle. 

“ Poah thing,” said Lloyd. “ It looked so beau- 
tiful swimming around in the watah a few minutes 
ago. Now it’s mate will be so lonesome. Papa 
Jack says wild ducks nevah mate again. Of co’se,” 
she went on, slowly, “ I’m proud to think that I hit 
it, but now that it’s dead and I took it’s life, I feel 
like a murdahah. Jack, I’m nevah going to kill 
anothah one as long as I live.” 

“ But it isn’t as if you’d done it just for sport,” 
protested Jack. “ They were meant for food. Wait 
till Joyce serves it for dinner, and you’ll change 
your mind.” 

“ No,” she said, resolutely, “ I’ll keep my rifle 
for rattlesnakes and coyotes, in case I see any, and 
for tah’get practice, but I’m not going to do any 
moah killing of this kind. I’m glad that I got this 
one, though,” she added, as she swung herself into 


1/4 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

the saddle. “ I’ll send grandfathah a feathah, and 
one to Mom Beck. They’ll both be so proud. And 
I’ll send one to Malcolm and one to Rob, and they’ll 
both be so envious, to think that I got ahead of 
them.” 

“ May I have one? ” asked Jack, “ just to keep to 
remember my first duck hunt ? ” 

“ Yes, of co’se! ” cried Lloyd. “ I wouldn’t have 
had any myself, if it hadn’t been for you. You 
have given me one of the greatest pleasuahs I evah 
had. This has been a lovely aftahnoon.” 

“ Then I can count that quite a ‘ feather in my 
cap,’ can’t I,” said Jack, laughingly. Reaching 
down, he selected the prettiest feather he could find, 
and thrust the long quill through his hatband. 
Lloyd glanced quickly at him. She would have ex- 
pected such a complimentary speech from Malcolm 
or Phil, but coming from the quiet, matter-of-fact 
Jack, such a graceful bit of gallantry was a surprise. 

“ You can save the down for a sofa-cushion, you 
know,” he added. “ Even if you have sworn off 
shooting any more yourself, you can levy on all that 
Phil and I get, to finish it.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” she called back over her shoul- 
der. Her pony, finding that he was turned home- 
ward, was setting off at his best gait. Slapping 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 175 

his hat firmly on his head, Jack hurried to overtake 
her, and the two raced along neck to neck. 

“ This is how they brought the good news from 
Ghent to Aix,” he called. “ I recited it once at 
school ! 

K 4 Not a word to each other ; we kept the great pace, — 

Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place.’ ” 

“ Isn’t it glorious ? ” called back Lloyd. Her 
cheeks dimpled with pleasure, and were growing 
red as a sun-ripened peach from the exercise. Her 
hat-pin began slipping out. Snatching at the little 
cap, she caught it just in time to save it from sailing 
off into the desert, but her hair came slipping down 
over her shoulders to her waist, in soft, shining 
waves. Jack thought that he had never seen any- 
thing prettier than the little golden ripples in it, as 
it floated back behind her in the sunshine. 

“ You look like Goldilocks when the three bears 
chased her,” he laughed. “ Don’t try to put it up 
again. That’s squaw fashion. You ought to wear 
it that way all the time you’re out here, if you want 
to be in style.” 

Across the road from the Wigwam, Mary and 
Norman were waiting for the return of the hunters. 
They had rolled a barrel from the back yard over 


1 76 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

to the edge of the desert, where they could watch the 
road, and, turning it on its side, had laid a plank 
across it, left from flooring the tents. On this they 
were seesawing up and down, taking turns at oc- 
cupying the end which faced in the direction Jack 
and Lloyd would come. Mary happened to have 
the coveted seat when they came in sight. 

“ Gay go up, and gay go down,” she chanted, as 
the seesaw rose and fell with delightful springiness. 
“ All the way to London town.” Norman was high 
in the air when she began again, “ Gay go up,” but 
it was anything but gay go down for Norman. 
With an unexpectedness that he was wholly un- 
prepared for, Mary’s chant ended with a whoop of 
“ Here they come ! ” She sprang off, and ran to 
meet them, regardless of the other end of the plank. 
It fell with such a thud that Norman felt that his 
spinal column must certainly have become un jointed 
in the jolt, and his little white teeth shut down vio- 
lently on his little red tongue. 

His cries and Mary’s shout of “ Here they come ” 
brought Joyce to the door. Mr. Ellestad was just 
leaving. She had prevailed upon him to read the 
legend to her mother, and then he had stayed on 
till sundown, discussing the different things that 
a girl might do on the desert to earn money. The 


LLOYD'S DUCK HUNT 


1 77 


story of Shapur had inspired her with a hope that 
made all things possible. She was glad that Lloyd’s 
triumph gave her an outlet for her enthusiasm. 

As soon as Mr. Ellestad left, she hustled Jack of/ 
to his mother’s tent to change his wet clothes, and 
then started to build the fire for supper. “ It’s a 
pity that it’s too dark for me to take a snap shot 
of you with that duck,” she said. “ But the first 
one that Jack or Phil kills we’ll have a picture of it. 
It will do just as well. Then if I were you I’d 
make some little blotting-pads of white blotting- 
paper, put a blue-print on the top sheet, of you and 
your rifle and the duck, and at the top fasten one 
of the feathers made into a pen. You can split the 
end of the quill, you know, just as they used to 
make the old-fashioned goose-quill pens.” 

“ So I can ! ” cried Lloyd. “ I’m so glad you 
thought of it. Oh, Joyce, I’ve had the best time 
this aftahnoon! I had no idea the desert could be 
so interesting ! ” 

“ Nor I, either,” began Joyce. “ I’ll tell you 
about it some other time,” she added, as Holland 
burst in, demanding to see the duck that Lloyd had 
killed. Mary had run down the road to meet him 
with the news, but he stoutly declined to believe 
that a girl could have accomplished such a feat. 


1/8 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

until he had the proof of it in his hands. Then 
to Lloyd’s delight he claimed the honour of pick- 
ing it. She felt that she would rather throw it 
away than go through the ordeal herself, yet she 
could not impose such a task on any one else at 
such a late hour on a busy Saturday. 

“ Oh, if you only will,” she cried, “ I’ll let you 
use my rifle air next Saturday. I didn’t see how 
I cbuld possibly touch it! That down is so thick 
undah the long outside feathahs, that it would be 
as bad as picking a — a cat! ” 

Holland ripped out a handful with a look of fine 
scorn. “ Well, if you aren’t the funniest! ” he ex- 
claimed. “ Girls are awful finicky,” he confided to 
Mary later. “ I’m glad that I’m not one.” 


j 


CHAPTER X. 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 

With her slipper toes caught in the meshes of the 
hammock to keep her from falling out, and with 
her head hanging over nearly to the ground, Mary 
lay watching something beneath her, with breath- 
less interest. 

“ What is it, Mary ? ” called Phil, as he came up 
and threw himself down on the grass beside her, in 
the shade of the bushy umbrella-tree. 

She pointed to a saucer of sugar and water just 
below her, on the edge of which several bees had 
alighted. “ I put it there/’ she said, in a low tone, 
as if afraid of disturbing the bees. “ Mr. Ellestad 
has been telling us how smart they are, and I wanted 
to watch them do some of their strange things my- 
self. He wants Joyce to raise bees instead of chick- 
ens or squabs or any of the things they were talk- 
ing about doing. He came up after dinner with 
some books, and told us so much about them, that 


179 


1 80 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

I learned more than I would in a whole week in 
school. Joyce and Lloyd were so interested that, 
as soon as he left, they rode right over to Mr. Shaw’s 
bee ranch to find out how much a hive costs, and all 
about it.” 

“ Have they been gone long? ” asked Phil, more 
interested in the girls than in the bees. Finding 
that they had been away more than an hour, and 
that it was almost time for their return, he settled 
himself to wait,, feigning an interest almost as great 
as Mary’s in the saucer of sugar and water. There 
was something comical to him always in Mary’s 
serious moods, and the grave expression of the 
little round face, as it hung over the edge of the 
hammock, promised enough amusement to make 
the time pass agreeably. 

“ When one bee gets all he can carry, he goes and 
tells the others,” explained Mary. “ I’ve had six, 
so far. I suppose you know about Huber,” she 
asked, looking up eagerly. “ I didn’t till Mr. Elle- 
stad read us a lot about him out of one of the books 
he brought.” 

“ I’ve heard of him,” answered Phil, smiling, as 
he saw how much she wanted the pleasure of re- 
peating her newly gained knowledge. “ Suppose 
you tell me.” 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES l8l 

“ Well, he was born in Switzerland — in Geneva, 
and when Lloyd found that out, she was ready to 
read anything he had written, or to study anything 
he was interested in. She just loves Geneva. That 
was where she met the major who gave her Hero, 
her Red Cross war-dog, you know, and that is 
where he saved her life, by stopping a runaway 
horse. 

“ Well, Huber went blind when he was just a boy, 
and he would have had a terribly lonesome time 
if it hadn’t been for the bees. He began to study 
them, and they were so interesting that he went on 
studying them his whole life. He had somebody to 
help him, of course, who watched the hives, and 
told him what went on inside, and he found out 
more about them than anybody had ever done be- 
fore, and wrote books about them. It is two hun- 
dred years since then, and a whole library has been 
written about bees since then, but his books are 
still read, and considered among the best. 

“ Holland said, Pooh ! the bees couldn’t teach 
him anything. He’d just as soon go to a school 
of grasshqppers, and that I’d be a goose if I spent 
my time watching ’em eat sugar and water out of 
a dish. He was going off fishing with George Lee. 
He wouldn’t wait to he^r ^vhat Mr. Ellestad had 


1 82 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


to say. But all the fish in the canal wouldn’t do 
me as much good as one thing I learned from the 
bees.” 

“ What was that ? ” asked Phil, lazily, stretching 
himself out full length on the grass, and pulling 
his hat over his eyes. 

“ Sometimes it happens that something gets into 
the hives that don’t belong there ; like a slug. Once 
a mouse got in one, and it told in the book about 
a child dropping a snail in one. Well, the bees can 
sting such things to death, but they’re not strong 
enough to drag them out after they’re dead, and if 
the dead bodies stayed in the hives they’d spoil 
everything after awhile. So the bees just cover 
them all over with wax, make an air-tight cell, and 
seal them up in it. Isn’t that smart? Then they 
just leave it there and go off about their business, 
and forget about it. Mr. Ellestad said that’s what 
people ought to do with their troubles that can’t 
be cured, but have to be endured. They ought to 
seal them up tight, and stop talking and fretting 
about them — keep them away from the air, he 
said, seal them up so they won’t poison their whole 
life. That set me to thinking about the trouble that 
is poisoning my happiness, and I made up my mind 
I’d pretend it was just a snail that had crept into 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 183 

my hive. I can’t change it, I can’t drag it out, 
but I won’t let it spoil all my honey.” 

“Well, bless my soul!” exclaimed Phil, sitting 
up very straight, and looking at her with an inter- 
est that was unfeigned this timie. “ What trouble 
tan a child like you have, that is so bad as all that ? ” 

“ Won’t you ever tell? ” said Mary, “ and won’t 
you ever laugh at me ? ” She was eager tc unburden 
her soul, but afraid of appearing ridiculous in the 
eyes of her hero. “Well, it’s being so fat! I’ve 
always wanted to be tall and slender and willowy, 
like the girls in books. I always play I am, when 
Patty and I go off by ourselves at recess. I have 
such good times then, but when I come back the 
boys call me Pudding, and Mother Bunch and 
Gordo. I think that is Spanish for fat. My face 
is just as round as a full moon, and my waist — 
well, Holland calls me Chautauqua , and that’s Indian 
for bag-tied-in-the-middle. There isn’t a girl in 
school that has such legs as mine. I can barely 
reach around them with both hands.” 

She pulled her short gingham skirt farther over 
her knees as she spoke, and stole a side glance at 
Phil to see if he were taking as serious a view of 
her troubles as the situation demanded. He was 
staring straight ahead of him with a very grave 


1 84 the little colonel in Arizona 

face, for he had to draw it into a frown to keep 
from laughing outright. 

“ Td give anything to be like Lloyd,” she con- 
tinued. “ She’s so straight and graceful, and she 
holds her head like a real princess. But she grew 
up that way, I suppose, and never did have a time 
of being dumpy like me. They used to call her 
‘ airy, fairy Lillian ’ when she was little, because 
she was so light on her feet.” 

“ They might well call her that now,” remarked 
Phil, looking toward the road down which she was 
to appear. Mary, about to plunge into deeper con- 
fidences, saw the glance, and saw that he had shifted 
his position in order to watch for the coming of 
the girls. She felt that he was not as interested 
as she had supposed. Maybe he wouldn’t care to 
hear how she stood every day in the tent before 
the mirror, to hold her shoulders as Lloyd did, or 
throw back her head in the same spirited way. 
Maybe he wouldn’t understand. Maybe he would 
think her vain and silly and a copy-cat, as Holland 
called her. Lloyd would not have rattled on the 
way she had been doing. Oh, why had she been 
born with such a runaway tongue! 

Covered with confusion, she sat so long without 
speaking that Phil glanced at her, wondering at the 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 1 85 

unusual silence. To his surprise there was an ex- 
pression of real distress on the plump little face, 
and the gray eyes were winking hard to keep back 
the tears. 

“ So that is the trouble, is it ? ” he said, kindly, 
not knowing what was in her thought. “ Well, 
it’s a trouble you’ll probably outgrow. I used to go 
to school with a girl that was nicknamed Jumbo, 
because she weighed so much, and she grew up 
to be as tall and slim as a rail; so you see there is 
hope for you. In the meantime, you are a very 
sensible little girl to take the lesson of the bees to 
heart. Just seal up your trouble, and don’t bother 
your head about it, and be your own cheerful, happy 
little self. People can’t help loving you when you 
are that way, and they don’t want you to be one 
mite different.” 

Phil felt like a grandfather as he gave this bit 
of advice. He did not see the look of supreme 
happiness which crossed Mary’s face, for at that 
moment the girls came riding up to the house, and 
he sprang up to meet them. 

“ I’ll unsaddle the ponies,” he said, taking the 
bridles as the girls slid to the ground, and starting 
fc /ward the pasture. By the time he returned, Mary 


1 86 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

had carried some chairs out to the hammock, and 
Joyce had brought a pitcher of lemonade. 

“ Come, drink to the success of my new under- 
taking,” she called. “ It’s all so far off in the future 
that mamma says I’m counting my chickens before 
they are hatched, but — I’m going into the bee 
business, Phil. Mr. Shaw will let me have a hive 
of gold-banded Italian bees for eight dollars. I 
don’t know when I’ll ever earn that much money, 
but I’ll do it some day. Then that hive will swarm, 

r» 

and the new swarms will swarm, and with the 
honey they make I’ll buy more hives. There is 
such a long honey-making time every year in this 
land of flowers, that I’ll be owning a ranch as big as 
Mr. Shaw’s some day, see if I don’t! I always 
wanted a garden like Grandmother Ware’s, with 
a sun-dial and a beehive in it, just for the artistic 
effect, but I never dreamed of making a fortune 
out of it.” 

“ And I intend to get some hives as soon as I go 
back to Locust,” said Lloyd. “ It will be the easi- 
est way in the world to raise money for ou’ Ordah 
of Hildegarde. That’s the name of the club I belong 
to,” she explained to Phil. “ One of its objects is 
to raise money for the poah girls in the mountain 
schools. We get so tiahed of the evahlasting em- 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 1 87 

broidery and fancy work, and, as Mr. Ellestad says, 
this is so interesting, and one can learn so much 
from the bees. ,, 

“ That’s what Mary was telling me,” said Phil, 
gravely. “ But I must confess I never got much 
out of them. I investigated them once when I was 
a small boy — stirred up the hive with a stick, and 
by the time I was rescued I was pretty well puffed 
up. Not with a sense of my wisdom, however. 
They stung me nearly to death. So I’ve rather 
shrunk from having any more dealings with them.” 

“ You can’t deny that they gave you a good lesson 
in minding your own business,” laughed Lloyd. 

“ Well, I don’t care to have so many teachers 
after me, all teaching me the same thing. I prefer 
variety in my instructors.” 

“ They don’t all teach the same thing,” cried 
Joyce, enthusiastically. “ I had no idea how the 
work was divided up until I began to study them. 
People have watched them through glass hives, you 
know, with black shutters. They have nurses to 
tend the nymphs and larvae, and ladies of honour, 
who wait on the queen, and never let her out of 
their sight. And isn’t it odd, they are exactly like 
human beings in one thing, they never turn their 
back on the queen. Then there are the house bees, 


1 88 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

who both air and heat the hives by fanning their 
wings, and sometimes they help to evaporate the 
honey in the same way, when there is more water 
in the flower nectar than usual. There are archi- 
tects, masons, waxworkers, and sculptors, and the 
foragers, who go out to the flowers for the pollen 
and nectar. Some are chemists, who let a drop of 
formic acid fall from the end of their stings to pre- 
serve the honey, and some are capsule makers, who 
seal down the cells when the honey is ripe. Besides 
all these are the sweepers, who spend their time 
sweeping the tiny streets, and the bearers, who 
remove the corpses-, and the amazons of the guard, 
who watch by the threshold night and day, and 
seem to require some kind of a countersign of all 
who pass, just like real soldiers. Some are artists, 
too, as far as knowing colours is concerned. They 
get red pollen from the mignonette, and yellow 
pollen from the lilies, and they never mix them. 
They always store them in separate cells in the 
storerooms.” 

“ Whew ! ” whistled Phil, beginning to fan him- 
self with his hat as Joyce paused. “ Anything 
more ? It takes a girl with a fad to deluge a fellow 
with facts.” 

“ Tell him about the drones,” said Lloyd, mean- 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 189 

ingly. She resented being laughed at. “ They don't 
like the school of the bees eithah. If Aristotle and 
Cato and Pliny and those old philosophahs could 
spend time studying them, you needn’t tuh’n up 
yoah nose at them ! ” 

Lloyd turned away indignantly, but she looked 
so pretty with her eyes flashing, and the colour 
coming up in her cheeks, that Phil was tempted to 
keep on teasing them about their fad, as he called 
it. His antagonism to it was all assumed at first, 
but he began to feel a real resentment as the days 
wore on. It interfered too often with his plans. 
Several times he had walked up to the ranch to 
find Mr. Ellestad there ahead of him with a new 
book on bee culture, or an interesting account of 
some new experiment, or some ride was spoiled 
because, when he called, the girls had gone to Shaw’s 
ranch to spend the afternoon. 

Joyce and Lloyd purposely pointed all their 
morals, and illustrated all their remarks whenever 
they could, by items learned at the School of the 
Bees, until Phil groaned aloud whenever the little 
honey-makers were mentioned. 

“ If you had been Shapur you nevah would have 
followed that bee to the Rose Garden of Omah, 


I90 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

would you ? ” asked Lloyd, one day when they had 
been discussing the legend of Camelback. 

“ No,” answered Phil, “ nothing could tempt me 
to follow one of those irritating little creatures.” 

“Not even to reach the City of yoah Desiah?” 

“ My City of Desire would have been right in that 
oasis, probably, if I had been Shapur. The story 
said, ‘ Water there was for him to drink, and the 
fruit of the date-palm/ He had everything to make 
him comfortable, so what was the use of going 
around with an ambition like a burning simoom in 
his breast.” 

“ I don’t believe that you have a bit of ambition,” 
said Lloyd, in a disapproving tone that nettled Phil. 
“ Have you ? ” 

“ I can’t say that it keeps me awake of nights,” 
laughed Phil. “ And I can’t see that anybody is any 
happier or more comfortable for being all torn up 
over some impossible thing he is for ever reaching 
after, and never can get hold of.” 

“ Neahly everybody I know is like Shapur,” said 
Lloyd, musingly. “ Joyce is wild to be an artist, 
and Betty to write books, and Holland to go into 
the navy, and Jack to be at the head of the mines. 
Papa has promised him a position in the mine office 
as soon as he learns Spanish, and he is pegging 


THE SCHOOL OF THE BEES 191 

away at it every spare minute. He says Jack will 
make a splendid man, for it is his great ambition 
to be just like his fathah, who was so steady-going 
and reliable and honahable in all he undahtook, that 
he had the respect of everybody. Papa says Jack 
will make just the kind of man that is needed out 
heah to build up this new country, and he expects 
great things of him some day. He says that a boy 
who is so faithful in small things is bound to be 
faithful to great ones of public trust.” 

“ What is your City of Desire ? ” asked Phil, who 
did not relish the turn the conversation had taken. 
He liked Jack, but he didn’t want Lloyd to sing 
his praises so enthusiastically. 

“ Oh, I’m only a girl without any especial talent,” 
answered Lloyd, “ so I can’t expect to amount to as 
much as Joyce and Betty. But I want to live up 
to our club motto, and to leave a Road of the Loving 
Heart behind me in everybody’s memory, and to be 
just as much like mothah and my beautiful Grand- 
mothah Amanthis as I can. A home-makah, grand- 
fathah says, is moah needed in the world than an 
artist or an authah. He consoles me that way some- 
times, when I feel bad because I can’t do the things 
I’d like to. But it is about as hard to live up to his 


192 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

ideal of a home-makah, as to reach any othah City 
of Desiah. He expects so much of me.” 

“ But what would your ambition be if you were 
a boy? ” asked Phil, lazily leaning back in the ham- 
mock to watch her. 

“ If I were a boy,” she repeated. A light leaped 
up into her face, and unconsciously her head took 
its high, princesslike pose. “ If I were a boy, and 
could go out into the world and do all sawts of fine 
things, I wouldn’t be content to sit down beside 
the well and the palm-tree. I’d want something 
to do that was hard and brave, and that would try 
my mettle. I’d want to fight my way through all 
sawts of dangahs and difficulties. I couldn’t beah 
to be nothing but a drone, and not have any paht 
in the world’s hive-making and honey-making.” 

“ Look here,” said Phil, his face flushing, “ you 
girls are associating with bees entirely too much. 
You’re learning to sting.” 


CHAPTER XL 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE’S RANCH 

Mary could hardly wait to tell the news to Phil 
and Mrs. Lee. She ran nearly all the way from the 
Wigwam to the ranch, her hat in her hand, and the 
lid of her lunch-basket flapping. 

Long before she came within calling distance, she 
saw Phil mount his horse out by the pasture bars, 
and ride slowly along the driveway which led past 
the tents to the public road. With the hope of in- 
tercepting him, she dashed on still more wildly, 
but her shoe-strings tripped her, and she was obliged 
to stop to tie them. Glancing up as she jerked them 
into hard knots, she breathed a sigh of relief, for he 
had drawn rein to speak to Mr. Ellestad and the 
new boarder, who were sitting in the sun near the 
bamboo-arbour. Then, just as he was about to 
start on again, Mrs. Lee came singing out to the 
tents with an armful of clean towels, and he called 
to her some question, which brought her, laughing, 
to join the group. 


*93 


194 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Thankful for these two delays, Mary went dash 
ing on toward them so breathlessly that Phil gave 
a whistle of surprise as she turned in at the ranch. 

“ What’s the matter, Mary ? ” he called. “ In- 
dians after you again ? ” 

“ No,” she panted, throwing herself down on the 
dry Bermuda grass, and wiping her flushed face on 
her sleeve. “ I’m on my way to school. I just 
stopped by with a message, and I thought you’d like 
to hear the news.” 

“ Well, that depends,” began Phil, teasingly. 
“We hear so little out on this lonely desert, that 
our systems may not be able to stand the shock of 
anything exciting. If it’s good news, maybe we 
can bear it, if you break it to us gently. If it’s bad, 
you’d better not run any risks. ‘ Where ignorance 
is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,’ you know.” 

“ Oh, come now, Tremont, that’s too bad,” 
laughed Mr. Ellestad. “ Don’t head her off that way 
when she’s in such a hurry to tell it.” 

“ Then go on, Mary,” said Phil, gravely. “ Mr. 
Ellestad’s curiosity is greater than his caution, and 
Mr. Armond hasn’t been in the desert long enough 
to be affected by its dearth of news, so anything 
sudden can’t hurt him. Go on.” 

Mary stole a glance at the new boarder. The 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 1 95 

long*, slender lingers, smoothing his closely clipped, 
pointed beard, hid the half-smile that lurked around 
his mouth. He was leaning back in his camp-chair, 
apparently so little interested in his surroundings, 
that Mary felt that his presence need not be taken 
into account any more than the bamboo-arbour’s. 

“ Well,” she said, as if announcing something of 
national importance, “Joyce has an order” 

“ An order,” repeated Phil, “ what under the can- 
opy is that? Is it catching? ” 

“ Don’t pay any attention to him, Mary,” Mr. 
Ellestad hastened to say, seeing a little distressed 
pucker between her eyes. “ Phil is a trifle slow to 
understand, but he wants to hear just as much as 
we do.” 

“ Well, it’s an order to paint some cards,” ex- 
plained Mary, speaking very slowly and distinctly 
in her effort to make the matter clear to him. “ You 
know the Links, back in Plainsville, Mrs. Lee. 
You’ve heard me talk about Grace Link ever so 
many times. Her cousin Cecelia is to be married 
soon, and her bridesmaids are all to be girls that 
she studied music with at the Boston Conservatory. 
So her Aunt Sue, that’s Mrs. Link, is going to give 
her a bridal musicale. It’s to be the finest enter- 
tainment that ever was in Plainsville, and they want 


196 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Joyce to decorate the souvenir programmes. Once 
she painted some place cards for a Valentine dinner 
that Mrs. Link gave. She did that for nothing, 
but Mrs. Link has sent her ten dollars in advance 
for making only thirty programmes. That’s thirty 
cents apiece. 

“ They’re to have Cupids and garlands of roses 
and strings of hearts on ’em, no two alike, and bars 
of music from the wedding-marches and bridal 
chorus. Joyce is the happiest thing! She’s nearly 
wild over it, she’s so pleased. She’s going to buy 
a hive of bees with the money.” 

Phil groaned, but Mary paid no attention to the 
interruption. 

“ The letter and the package of blank cards for the 
programmes came this morning while she was 
sweeping, and she just left the dirt and the broom 
right in the middle of the floor, and sat down on 
the door-step and began sketching little designs 
on the back of the envelope, as they popped into 
her head. Lloyd and Jack and mamma are going 
to do all the cooking and housework and everything, 
so Joyce can spend all her time on the cards. They 
want them right away. Isn’t that splendid ? ” 

“ Whoop-la ! ” exclaimed Phil, as Mary stopped, 
out of breath. “ Fortune has at last changed in 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 1 97 

your favour. I’ll ride straight up to the Wigwam 
to congratulate her.” 

“ Oh, I almost forgot what I stopped by for,” ex- 
claimed Mary. “ Lloyd told me to tell you that you 
needn’t come to-day to take her riding, for she’ll 
be too busy helping Joyce to go.” 

Phil scowled. “ The turn in my fortune isn’t 
so favourable, it seems. Well, if I’m not wanted 
at the Wigwam I’ll go to town to-day. There’s 
always something doing in Phoenix. Climb up 
behind me, Mary, and I’ll give you a lift as far as 
the schoolhouse.” 

As they galloped gaily down the road, Mrs. Lee 
looked after them with a troubled expression in her 
eyes. “ There’s too much doing in Phoenix for a 
nice boy like that,” she thought. “ I wish he 
wouldn’t go so often. I must tell him 1 the expe- 
rience some of my other boys have had when they 
went in with idle hands and full purses like his.” 

Her boarders were always her boys to Mrs. 
Lee, and she watched over them with motherly in- 
terest, not only nursing them in illness and cheering 
them in homesickness, but many a time whispering 
a warning against the temptations which beset all 
exiles from home who have nothing to do but kill 
time. Now with the hope of interesting the new 


r 98 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

boarder in something beside himself, she dropped 
down into the rustic seat near him, hanging the 
towels over the arm of it while she talked. 

“You must make the acquaintance of the Wares, 
Mr. Armond,” she began. “ They stayed at the 
ranch three weeks, and this little Mary and her 
brothers kept things humming, the whole time.” 

“ They’d give me nervous prostration in half a 
day, if they’re all like that little chatterbox,” he 
answered, listlessly. 

“ Not Joyce,” interrupted Mr. Ellestad. “ She’s 
the most interesting child of her age I ever knew, 
and being an artist yourself you couldn’t fail to 
be interested in her unbounded ambition. She 
really has talent, I think. For a girl of fifteen her 
clever little water-colours and her pen-and-ink work 
show unusual promise.” 

“ Then I’m sorry for her,” said Mr. Armond. “ If 
she has ambition and thinks she has talent, life will 
be twice as hard for her, always a struggle, always 
an unsatisfied groping after something she can never 
reach.” 

“ But I believe that she will reach what she wants, 
some day,” was the reply. “ She has youth and 
health and unbounded hope. The other day I quoted 
an old Norwegian proverb, ‘ He waits not long who 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 1 99 

waits for a feast / She wrote it on the kitchen door, 
saying, ‘ I’ll have to wait till I can earn enough 
money to buy one hive of bees, and then I’ll wait for 
that hive to swarm and make another, and for the 
two to grow into a hundred, and that into two hun- 
dred maybe, before I’ll have enough to go away 
and study. It’ll be years and years before I reach 
the mark I’ve set for myself, but when I’m really 
an artist, doing the things I’ve dreamed of doing, 
that will be a feast worth any amount of waiting.’ 
Now in less than a week she has found her way to 
the first step, the first hive of bees, and I’m truly 
glad for her.” 

“ But the happier such beginnings, the more tragic 
the end, oftentimes,” Mr. Armond answered. “ I’ve 
known such cases, — scores of them, when I was 
an art student myself in Paris. Girls and young 
fellows who thought they were budding geniuses. 
Who left home and country and everything else for 
art’s sake. They lived in garrets, and slaved and 
struggled and starved on for years, only to find in 
the end that they were not geniuses, only to face 
failure. I never encourage beginners any more. 
For what is more cruel than to say to some hungry 
soul, * Go on, wait, you’ll reach the feast, your long- 
ing shall be satisfied,’ when you know full well that 


200 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in only one case in ten thousand, perhaps, can there 
be a feast for one of them. That when they stretch 
out their hands for bread there will be only a stone.’* 

“ But you reached it yourself, Armond, you know 
you did,” answered Mr. Ellestad, who had known 
the new boarder well in his younger days. “ To 
have had pictures hung in the Salon and Academy, 
to be recognized as a success in both hemispheres, 
isn’t that enough of a feast to satisfy most men? ” 

The face turned to him in reply wore the look 
of one who has fought the bitterest of fights and 
fallen vanquished. 

“ No. To have a sweet snatched away just as 
it is placed to one’s lips is worse than never to have 
tasted it. What good does it do me now? Look 
at me, a hopeless invalid, doomed to a year or two 
of unendurable idleness. How much easier it would 
be for me now to fold my hands and wait, if I had 
no baffled ambitions to torment me hourly, no higher 
desires in life than Chris there.” 

He pointed to the swarthy Mexican, digging a 
ditch across the alfalfa pasture. “ No,” he repeated. 
“ I’d never encourage any one, now, to start on such 
an unsatisfactory quest.” 

“ I’m sorry,” said Mr. Ellestad. “ When I heard 
that you were coming, I hoped that you would take 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 20 i 

an interest in Joyce Ware. You could be the great' 
est inspiration and help to her, if you only would.” 

“ There she is now,” exclaimed Mrs. Lee, who sat 
facing the road. “ It does me good to see any one 
swing along as she does, with so much energy and 
purpose in every movement.” 

Air. Armond turned his head slightly for a view 
of the girlish figure moving rapidly toward them. 

“ Don’t tell her that I am an artist, Ellestad,” he 
said, hurriedly, as she drew near, “ or that I’ve ever 
lived in the Latin Quarter or — or anything like 
that. I know how schoolgirls gush over such things, 
and I’m in no mood for callow enthusiasms.” 

Joyce’s errand was to borrow some music, the 
wedding-marches, if Mrs. Lee had them, from 
Lohengrin and Tannhauser. She remembered see- 
ing several old music-books on the organ in the 
adobe parlour, and she thought maybe the selections 
she wanted might be in them. 

Mr. Armond sat listening to the conversation with 
as little interest, apparently, as he had done to 
Mary’s. After acknowledging his introduction to 
Joyce by a grave bow, he leaned back in his chair, 
and seemed to withdraw himself from notice. 

At first glance Joyce had been a trifle embar- 
rassed by the presence of this distinguished-looking 


202 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


stranger. Something about him — the cut of the 
short, pointed beard, the nervous movement of his 
long, sensitive fingers, the eyes that seemed to see 
so much and so deeply in their brief glances, re- 
called some memory, vague and disturbing. She 
tried to remember where it was she had seen some 
man who looked like this one. 

“ Is it very necessary that you should have the 
wedding-marches ? ” asked Mrs. Lee, coming back 
from a fruitless search in the parlour. “ Wouldn't 
a few bars from any other music do just as well? 
So long as you have some notes, I should think any 
other march would carry out the idea just as well.” 

“ No,” said Joyce. “ All the guests will be musi- 
cians. They’d see at a glance if it wasn’t appro- 
priate, and ordinary music would not mean any- 
thing in such a place.” 

“ I know where you can get what you want,” 
said Mrs. Lee, “ but you’d have to go to Phoenix 
for it. I have a friend there who is a music-teacher 
and an organist. I’ll give you a note to her, if you 
care enough to go six miles.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mrs. Lee,” cried Joyce. “ I’ll 
be glad to take it, if it isn’t too much trouble for you 
to write it. I’d go twenty miles rather than not 
have the right notes on the programmes.” 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 203 

Mr. Armond darted a quick glance at her through 
half-closed eyelids. Evidently she was more in ear- 
nest than he had supposed. 

As Mrs. Lee went to the house to write the note, 
Mr. Ellestad said, smilingly, “ Mary told us that 
this piece of good fortune will bring you your first 
hive of bees, give you your first step toward the 
City of your Desire. It seems appropriate that this 
bridal musicale should give you your hives. Did 
you ever hear that the bow of the Hindu love-god 
is supposed to be strung with wild bees? ” 

“ No,” she answered, slowly, “ but it’s a pretty 
idea, isn’t it? ” Then her face lighted up so brightly 
that Mr. Armond looked at her with awakening in- 
terest. 

“ Oh, I’m so glad you told me that ! It sug- 
gests such a pretty design. See! I can make one 
card like this.” Taking a pencil from her hair, 
where she had thrust it when she started on her 
errand, and catching up the old music-book Mrs. 
Lee had brought out, she began sketching rapidly 
on a fly-leaf. 

“ I’ll have a little Cupid in this corner, his bow 
strung with tiny bees, shooting across this staff of 
music, suspended from two hearts. And instead of 


204 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

notes I’ll make bees, flying up and down between 
the lines. Won’t that be fine? ” 

Mr. Armond nodded favourably when the sketch 
was passed to him. “ Very good,” he said, looking 
at it critically. Slipping a pencil from his pocket, 
he held it an instant over the little fat Cupid, as if 
to make some correction or suggestion, but appar- 
ently changing his mind, he passed the sketch back 
to Joyce without a word. 

Again she was baffled by that vague half-memory. 
The gesture with which he had taken the pencil 
from his pocket and replaced it seemed familiar. 
The critical turn of his head, as he looked at the 
sketch, was certainly like some one’s she knew. 
She liked him in spite of his indifference. Some- 
thing in his refined, melancholy face made her feel 
sorry for him; sorrier than she had been for any 
of the other people at the ranch. He looked white 
and ill, and the spells of coughing that seized him 
now and then seemed to leave him exhausted. 

When Mrs. Lee came out with the note, Joyce 
rose to go. She had learned in the short conversa- 
tion with Mr. Ellestad that this stranger was an old 
acquaintance of his, so she said, hospitably, “We 
are your nearest neighbours, Mr. Armond. I know 
from experience how monotonous the desert is till 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 2C>5 

one gets used to it. Whenever you feel in need of 
a change we’ll be glad to see you at the Wigwam. 
It’s always lively there, now.” 

He thanked her gravely, and Mr. Ellestad added, 
with a laugh, “ He is just at the point now where 
Shapur was when the caravan went on without 
him. He doesn’t think that these arid sands can 
hold anything worth while.” 

“ Oh, I know ! ” exclaimed Joyce, with an under- 
standing note in her voice. “ It’s dreadful until you 
follow the bee, and find your Omar. You must 
tell him about it, Mr. Ellestad.” 

Then she hurried away. Half an hour later she 
galloped by on the pony, toward Phoenix. Lloyd 
was riding beside her. As they passed the ranch she 
waved a greeting with the note which Mrs. Lee 
had given her. 

“ What do you think of her work ? ” asked Mr. 
Ellestad of his friend. 

“ One couldn’t judge from a crude outline like 
that,” was the answer. “ She’s so young that it 
is bound to be amateurish. Still she certainly shows 
originality, and she has a capacity for hard work. 
Her willingness to go all the way to Phoenix for a 
few bars of music shows that she has the right stuff 


206 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in her. But I wouldn’t encourage her if I were in 
your place.” 

When Mr. Ellestad called at the Wigwam that 
afternoon, he found Joyce hard at work. A row 
of finished programmes was already stretched out on 
the table before her. Through the door that opened 
into the kitchen, he could see Lloyd at the ironing- 
board. Her face was flushed, and there was an 
anxious little frown between her eyes, because the 
wrinkles wouldn’t come out of the sheets, and the 
hot irons had scorched two towels in succession. 
But she rubbed away with dogged persistence, de- 
termined to finish all that was left in the basket, 
despite Joyce’s pleading that she should stop. 

“ Those things can wait till the last of the week 
just as well as not,” she insisted. But Lloyd was 
unyielding. 

“ No, suh,” she declared. “ I nevah had a chance 
to i’on even a pocket-handkerchief befoah, and I’m 
bound I’ll do it, now I’ve begun.” 

There was a blister on one pink little palm, and a 
long red burn on the back of her hand, but she kept 
cheerfully on until the basket was empty. 

“ Tell me about Mr. Armond,” said Joyce, as she 
worked. “ He reminds me of some one I’ve seen. 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE'S RANCH 20? 

I’ve been trying all afternoon to think. You've 
known him a long time, haven’t you?" 

“ Yes, I met him abroad when he was a mere 
boy," answered Mr. Ellestad, wishing that he had 
not been asked to say nothing about his friend's 
career as an artist. The tale of his experiences and 
successes would have been of absorbing interest to 
Joyce. 

“ Armond doesn’t like to have his past discussed," 
he said, after a pause. “ He made a brilliant suc- 
cess of it until his health failed several years ago. 
Since then he has grown so morose that he is not 
like the same creature. He has lost faith in every- 
thing. I tell him that if he would rouse himself 
to take some interest in people and things about 
him, — if he’d even read, and get his mind off of 
himself, then he’d quit cursing the day he was born, 
and pick up a little appetite. Then he would live 
longer. If he were at some sanitarium they’d make 
him eat; but here he won’t go to the table half the 
time. Jo fixes up all sorts of tempting extras for 
him, but he just looks at them, and shoves them 
aside without tasting. The only thing I have heard 
him express a wish for since he has been at the ranch 
is quail." 

“ Oh, we’re going to have some for supper to- 


208 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

night,” cried Joyce. “ Jack shot seven yesterday 
He gets some nearly every day. I’ll send Mr. 
Armond one if you think he’d like it. That is, if 
they turn out all right. My cooking isn’t always 
a success, especially when my mind is on something 
like this work.” 

Everybody in the family helped to get supper that 
night, even Norman, so that Joyce might work on 
undisturbed till the last moment. The only part 
that she took in the preparations was to superintend 
the cooking of the quail, and to call out directions 
to the others, as she painted garlands of roses and 
sprays of orange-blossoms on one programme after 
another. 

“ Spread one of the white fringed napkins out in 
the little' brown covered basket, Mary, please, and 
put in a knife and fork. And Lloyd, I wish you’d 
set a saucer on the stove hearth where it’ll get almost 
red-hot. Jack, if you’ll have the pony ready at the 
door I’ll fly down to Mr. Armond with a quail the 
minute they are done, so that he’ll get it piping hot. 
No, I’ll take it myself, thank you. You boys are 
as hungry as bears, and I’ve painted so hard all 
afternoon that I haven’t a bit of appetite. I’ll feel 
more like eating if I have the ride first.” 

The ranch supper-bell was ringing as she started 







I 














$ 








n 


THE NEW BOATDER AT LEE'S RANCH 2Cg 

down the road on a gallop, holding the basket care- 
fully in one hand, and guiding the pony with the 
other. Everybody had gone in to the dining-room 
but Mr. Armond. Wrapped in a steamer-rug and 
overcoat, he sat just outside the door This tent, 
his ha* nulled down over his eyes. Turning from 
the drivewa’ he rode directly across the lawn 
toward him. one was bareheaded, and her face 
was glowing, not only from the rapid ride, but the 
kindly impulse that prompted her coming. 

He looked up in astonishment as she leaned over 
to offer him the little basket. 

“ I’ve brought you a quail, Mr. Armond/' she 
said, breathlessly. “ You must eat it quick, while 
it’s blazing hot, and eat it every bit but the bones, 
for it was cooked on purpose for you. It’ll d vou 
good.” 

Without an instant’s pause she started off again, 
but he called her. “ Wait a moment, child. I 
haven’t thanked you. Ellestad said you were work- 
ing at your programmes like a Trojan, and wouldn’t 
stop long enough to draw a full breath. You surely 
haven’t finished them.” 

“ No, it will take nearly two days longer,” she 
said, gathering up the reins again. 

“ And you stopped in the middle of it to do this 


210 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

for me!” he exclaimed. “ I certainly appreciate 
your taking so much time and trouble for me — an 
entire stranger.” 

“ Oh, no ! You’re not a stranger,” she protested. 
“ You’re Mr. Ellestad’s friend.” 

“ Then may I ask one more favour at your hands? 
I’d like to see your programmes when they’re fin- 
ished, — before you send them away. There is so 
little to interest one out here,” he continued, apolo- 
getically, “ that if you don’t mind humouring an in- 
valid’s whims — ” 

“ Oh, I’d be glad to,” cried Joyce, flushing. “ I’ll 
bring them down just as soon as they’re done. That 
is,” she added, with a mischievous smile dimpling 
her face, which made her seem even younger than 
she was, “ if you’ll be good, and eat every bit of 
the quail.” 

“ I’ll promise,” he replied, an answering smile 
lighting his face for an instant. An easy promise 
to keep, he thought, as he lifted the lid, and took 
out the hot covered dish. The quail on the delicately 
browned toast was the most tempting thing he had 
seen in weeks. 

“ What a kind little soul she is,” he said to him- 
self, as he tasted the first appetizing morsel, “ fairly 
brimming over with consideration for other people. 


THE NEW BOARDER AT LEE’S RANCH 211 


As Ellestad says, I could do a lot for her, if it seemed 
the right thing to encourage her.” 

Whether it was the quail, which he ate slowly, 
enjoying it to the last mouthful, or whether it was 
the remembrance of a pair of honest, friendly eyes, 
beaming down on him with neighbourly good-will 
and sympathy, he could not tell, but as he went 
into his tent afterward and lighted the lamp, some- 
how the desert seemed a little less lonely, the out- 
look a trifle less hopeless. 


CHAPTER XII. 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 

Phil went up to the Wigwam early next morning. 
Breakfast was just over, and Joyce had begun paint- 
ing again. He paused an instant at the front door 
to watch her brown head bending over the table, 
and the quick motion of her deft fingers. She was 
so absorbed in her task that she did not look up, 
so after a moment he went on around the house to 
the kitchen. 

Mrs. Ware was lifting the dish-pan from its nail 
to its place on the table, and Lloyd was standing 
beside her, enveloped in a huge apron, holding a 
towel in her hands, ready to help. Norman, beside 
a chair on which a clean napkin had been spread, 
was filling the salt-cellars. Jack, having carried 
water to the tents, was busy chopping wood. 

“ Good mawning!” called Lloyd, waving her 
towel as Phil appeared in the door. Mrs. Ware 
turned with such a cordial smile of welcome, that 


2 T 7 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 21 3 

he took it as an invitation to come in, and hung his 
hat on the post of a chair. 

“ I want to have a finger in this pie,” he an- 
nounced. “ I was told to stay at home yesterday, 
but I don't intend to be snubbed to-day. 

“ Wait, Aunt Emily, that kettle is too heavy for 
you!” 

He had called her Aunt Emily since the first time 
he had heard Lloyd do it. “ You don’t care, do 
you ? ” he had asked. “ It makes a fellow feel so 
forlorn and familyless when he has to mister and 
madam everybody.” She was sewing a button on 
his coat for him at the time he asked her, and she 
gave such a pleased assent that he stooped to leave 
a light kiss on the smooth forehead where gray 
hair was beginning to mingle with the brown. 

Now he took the kettle from her before she could 
object, and began pouring the boiling water into 
the pan. “ Let me do this,” he insisted. “ I haven’t 
had a hand in anything of the sort since I was a 
little shaver. It makes me think of a time when the 
servants were all away, and Stuart and I helped 
Aunt Patricia. She paid us in peppermint sticks and 
cinnamon drops.” 

“ You’ll get no candy here,” she answered, laugh- 
ing. “ You might as well go on if that’s what you 


214 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

expect.” But there was no resisting the coaxing 
ways of this big handsome boy, who towered above 
her, and who took possession in such a masterful 
way of her apron and dish-mop. His coat and cuffs 
were off the next instant, and he began clattering 
the china and silverware vigorously through the 
hot soap-suds. 

Mrs. Ware, taking a big yellow bowl in her lap, 
sat down to pick over some dried beans, and to 
enjoy the lively conversation which kept pace with 
the rattle of the dishes. It was interrupted presently 
by a complaint from Lloyd. 

“ Aunt Emily, he doesn’t wash ’em clean ! He’s 
left egg all ovah this spoon. That’s the second time 
I’ve had to throw it back into the watah.” 

“ Aunt Emily, it isn’t so,” mocked Phil, in a high 
falsetto voice, imitating her accent. “ It’s bettah 
than she could do huhself. She’s no great shakes 
of a housekeepah.” 

“ I’ll show you,” retorted Lloyd, throwing the 
spoon back into the pan with a splash. “ I’m going 
to make a pie foh dinnah to-day, and you won’t 
get any.” 

“ Then probably I’ll be the only one who escapes 
alive to tell the tale. Aunt Emily, please invite me 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 


215 


to dinner,” he begged, “ and mayn’t I stay out here, 
and watch her make it ? ” 

“ Of co’se I can’t help it if she chooses to ask you 
to dinnah,” said Lloyd, loftily, when he had re- 
ceived his invitation, “ but I most certainly won’t 
have you standing around in my way, criticizing me 
when I begin to cook. You can fill the wood-box 
and brush up the crumbs and hang these towels out 
on the line, if you want to, then you may go in and 
watch Joyce paint.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” answered Phil. “ Such con- 
descension! Such privileges ! Your Royal Highness, 
I humbly make my bow ! ” 

He bent low in a burlesque obeisance that a star 
actor might have envied, and, throwing up a saucer 
and catching it deftly, began to sing: 

“ The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts, 

Upon a summer day. 

But none could look — that selfish cook 
Drove every one away. ” 

It was all the most idle nonsense, and yet, as they 
worked together in a playful half-quarrel, Lloyd 
liked him better than she had at any time before. 
He reminded her of Rob Moore. He was big like 
Rob, tall and broad-shouldered, but much hand- 


216 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

somer. Rob had teased her since babyhood, and, 
when Phil began his banter in the same blunt, big- 
brother fashion, it made her feel as if she had known 
him always. And yet he was more like Malcolm 
than Rob, in some respects, she thought later. The 
courteous way he sprang to pick up her handker- 
chief, the quick turn he gave to some little remark, 
which made it a graceful compliment, his gentle- 
manly consideration for Mrs. Ware — all that was 
like Malcolm. 

Phil would not be driven out of the kitchen until 
he had exacted a promise from Mrs. Ware that he 
might come the next day, and make the dessert for 
the morrow’s dinner, vowing that, if it were not 
heels over head better than Lloyd’s, he would treat 
everybody at the Wigwam and on the ranch to a 
picnic at Hole-in-the-rock. 

“ Prop the door open, please,” called Joyce, as he 
went into the sitting-room from the kitchen. “ I 
need some of that heat in here. It’s chilly this 
morning when one sits still.” 

So Lloyd, moving back and forth at her pastry- 
making, could see their heads bending over the 
table, and hear snatches of an animated discussion 
about a design he proposed for her to put on one 
of the programmes. 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 21? 

“ Put a line from 4 Call me thine own ’ on this 
' one,” he said, 44 and have a couple of turtle-doves 
perched up on the clef, cooing at each other, and 
make little hearts for the notes.” 

44 How brilliant ! ” cried Joyce. 44 Phil, you’re a 
genius. Do think up some more, for I’m nearly at 
my wits’ end, trying to get thirty different designs.” 

44 Don’t make them all so fine,” he suggested. 
44 Some of those people will get it into their heads 
that matrimony is all roses.” He lifted his voice 
a little, so that Lloyd could not fail to hear. She 
was standing before the moulding-board now, her 
sleeves tucked up, and a look of intense seriousness 
on her face as she sifted flour, as if pie-making were 
the most important business in the universe. 

44 Make the Queen of Hearts with a rolling-pin 
in her hand and a scowl on her face, as she will 
look after the ceremony, when she takes it into 
her head to make some tarts. Put a bar of 4 Come, 
ye disconsolate,’ with a row of tiny pies for the 
notes, and the old king doubled up at the end of it, 
with the knave running for a doctor.” 

44 You horrid thing!” called Lloyd, wrathfully, 
from the kitchen. 44 You sha’n’t have a bite of these 
pies now.” 

44 Nothing personal, I assure you,” called Phil, 


21 8 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

laughing. “ Fm only helping the artist.” But 
Joyce said, in a low tone, “ It is a little personal, 
because she used to be called the Queen of Hearts 
so much. Did you ever see her picture taken in 
that character, when she A^as dressed in that cos- 
tume for a Valentine party? It was years ago. 
Miss Marks made some coloured photographs of 
her. You’ll find one in that portfolio somewhere, 
if you'll take the trouble to look through it. She’s 
had so many different nicknames,” continued Joyce. 
Norman was hammering on something in the kitchen 
now, so there was no need for her to lower her 
voice. 

“ She is * The Little Colonel ’ to half the Valley, 
and I suppose always will be to her grandfather’s 
friends. Then when she started to school, about 
the time that picture was taken, she was such a 
popular little thing that one of her teachers began 
calling her Queen of Hearts. Both boys and girls 
used to fuss for the right to stand beside her in reci- 
tations, and march next her at calisthenics, and 
she was sure to be called first when they chose sides 
for their games at recess. 

“ Then, after she was in that play with her dog 
Hero, that Mary told you about, the girls at board- 
ing-school began calling her the Princess Winsome, 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 2ig 

and then just Princess. Malcolm McIntyre, who 
took the part of the knight who rescued her, never 
calls her anything but that now. There she is, as 
she looked in the play when she sang the dove song.” 

Joyce pointed with her brush-handle to another 
photograph in the pile. It was the same picture that 
Mary had showed him, the beautiful little medallion 
of the Princess Winsome, holding the dove to her 
breast as she sang', “ Flutter and fly.” The same 
picture which had swayed on the pendulum in 
Roney’s lonely cabin, repeating, with every tick of 
the clock, “ For love — will find — a way ! ” 

Phil put it beside the other photograph, and 
studied them both intently as Joyce went on. 

“ Then the other day, when her father was here, 
I noticed that he had a new name for her. He 
called her that several times, and when he went 
away, he said it in a tone that seemed to mean so 
much, ‘ Good-bye, my little Hildegarde ! 

Phil looked from the pictures on the table to the 
original, standing in the kitchen wielding a rolling- 
pin under Mrs. Ware’s direction. The morning 
sun, streaming through the window, was making a 
halo of her hair. Somehow he found this last view 
the most pleasing. He said nothing, however, only 
thrummed idly on the table, and hummed an old 


220 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


song that had been running through his head all 
morning. 

“What’s that you’re humming?” asked Joyce, 
when she had worked on in silence several minutes. 

Phil came to himself with a start. “ I’m sure I 
don’t know,” he laughed. “ I wasn’t conscious that 
I was making even an attempt to sing.” 

“ It went this way,” said Joyce, whistling the re- 
frain, softly. “ It’s so sweet.” 

“ Oh, that,” said Phil, recognizing the air. 
“ That’s a song that Elsie’s old English nurse used 
to sing her to sleep with. 

“ * Maid Elsie roams by lane and lea, 

Her heart beats low and sad.’ 

She liked it because it had her name in it, and I 
liked it because of the jingle of the chorus. It 
always seemed full of bells to me.” He hummed 
it lightly : 

“ ‘ Kling, lang ling, 

She seems to hear her bride-bells ring, 

Her bonny bride-bells ring.’ 

It must have been these bridal musicale programmes 
that brought it up to me, for I haven’t thought of 
it in years.” 

“ And that suggests something to me,” answered 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 


221 


Joyce. “ I haven’t used any wedding-bells on these 
programmes. Now, let me see. How can I put 
them on ? ” She sat studying one of the empty 
cards intently. 

“ Here ! This way ! ” cried Phil. “ I can’t draw 
it as it ought to be, but I can see in my mind’s eye 
what you want. Put a Cupid up in each top corner, 
with a bunch of five narrow ribbons, strung across 
from one to the other in narrow, wavy lines, and 
hang the little bells on them for notes. Then the 
ends of the ribbons can trail down the sides of the 
programmes sort of fluttery and graceful. Pshaw ! 
I can’t make it look like anything, but I can see 
exactly how it ought to look.” 

He scribbled his pencil across the lines he had at- 
tempted to draw, and started to tear the paper in 
disgust, when she caught it from him. 

“ I know just what you mean,” she cried. “ And 
Phil Tremont, you are a genius. This will be the 
best design in the whole lot.” She was outlining 
it quickly as she spoke. “ You ought to be a de- 
signer. You’d make your fortune at it, for origi- 
nality is what counts. Why don’t you study it?” 

“ I did have it in mind for a week or so,” an- 
swered Phil, “ but I wanted most of all to be an 
architect, or something of the sort. Father wanted 


222 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

me to study medicine, and grandfather thought I’d 
do better at civil engineering. But I couldn’t settle 
down to anything. I suppose the truth of the matter 
was I was thinking too much about the good times 
I was having, and didn’t want to buckle down to 
anything that meant hard digging. So last year 
father said I wasn’t getting any kind of discipline, 
and that I had to go to a military school for it. 
That there I would at least learn punctuality and 
order, and that military training would fit me to 
be a good citizen just as much as to be a good 
soldier.” 

“ What does he think about it now ? ” answered 
Joyce. “ I beg your pardon,” she added, hastily. 
“ I had no right to ask such a personal question.” 

“ That’s all right,” answered Phil. “ I don’t care 
a rap if you do talk about it. It’s worried me a 
good deal thinking how cut up the old pater will 
feel when he finds out about it. He thought he’d 
left me in such good hands, shut up where I couldn’t 
get out into any trouble, and I hated to write that 
they’d fired me almost as soon as his back was 
turned. If I could have talked to him, and explained 
both sides of it, how unfair the Major was, and 
all that, and how we were just out for a lark, with 
the best intentions in the world, I could have soon 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 223 

convinced him that I meant all right, and he wouldn’t 
have minded so much. But I never was any good 
at letter-writing, so I kept putting it off the first 
two weeks I was here. I wrote last week, but it 
takes* a month to send a letter and get an answer, 
so it’ll be some time yet before I hear from him. In 
the meantime, I’m taking life easy, and worrying as 
little as possible.” 

Joyce made no reply when he paused, only bent 
her head a little lower over her work; but Phil, 
unusually sensitive to mental influences, felt her 
disapprobation as keenly as if she had spoken. The 
silence began to grow uncomfortable, and finally 
he asked, lightly, toying with a paper-knife while 
he spoke, “ Well, what do you think of the situa- 
tion?” 

“ Do you want to know honestly? ” asked Joyce, 
her head trending still lower over her work. 

“ Yes, honestly.” 

Her face grew red, but looking up her clear gray 
eyes met his unflinchingly. “ Well, I think you’re 
the very brightest boy that I ever knew, anywhere, 
and that it would be a very easy thing for you to 
make your mark in the world in any way you 
pleased, if you would only make up your mind to 
do it. But it’s lazy of you to loaf around all winter 


224 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

doing nothing, not even studying by yourself, and 
it’s selfish to disappoint your father when he is so 
ambitious for you, and it’s — yes, it’s wicked for 
you to waste opportunities that some boys would 
almost give their eyes for. There ! ” 

“ Whew! ” whistled Phil, getting up to pace the 
floor, with his hands in his pockets. “ That’s the 
worst roast I ever got.” 

“ Well, you asked for it,” said Joyce. “ You 
said for me to tell you honestly what I thought.” 

“ What would you have me to do? ” asked Phil, 
impatiently, anxious to justify himself. “ A fellow 
with any spirit couldn’t get down and beg to be taken 
back to school, when he knew all the time that he 
was only partly in the wrong, and that it was un- 
just and arbitrary of the officers to require what they 
did.” 

“ That isn’t the only school in the country,” said 
Joyce, quietly, “ and for a fellow six feet tall, and 
seventeen years old, a regular athlete in appearance, 
to wait for somebody to lead him back to his books 
does seem a little ridiculous, doesn’t it? ” 

“ Confound it ! ” he began, angrily, then stopped, 
for Joyce was smiling up into his face with a friend- 
liness he could not resist, and there was more than 
censure in her eyes. There was sincere admiration 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 225 

for the handsome boy whom she found so enter- 
taining and companionable. 

“ Now don’t get uppity,” she laughed. “ I’m 
only saying to you what Elsie would say if she were 
here.” 

Phil shrugged his shoulders. “ Not much ! ” he 
exclaimed. “ You don’t know Elsie. She thinks 
her big brother is perfection. She has always stood 
up for me in the face of everything. Daddy never 
failed to let me off easy when she patched up the 
peace between us. She wouldn’t rake me over the 
coals the way you do.” 

Joyce liked the expression that crossed his face 
as he spoke of Elsie, and the gentler tone in which 
he said Daddy. 

“ All the more reason, then,” she answered, “ that 
somebody else should do the raking. I hope I 
haven’t been officious. It’s only what I would say 
to Jack under the same circumstances. I’m so used 
to preaching to the boys that I couldn’t help sailing 
in when you gave me leave. I won’t do it any more, 
though. See! Here is the design you suggested. 
I’ve finished it.” 

Mollified by her tone and her evident eagerness 
to leave the subject, he dropped into the chair beside 
her again, and sat talking until Lloyd called them 


226 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

both out to admire her pies. There were two of 
them on the table, hot from the oven, so crisp and 
delicately browned, that Lloyd danced around them, 
clicking a couple of spoons in each hand like cast- 
anets, and calling Mrs. Ware to witness that she 
had made them entirely by herself. 

“ Don’t they look delicious ? ” she cried. “ Did 
you evah see moah tempting looking pies in all yoah 
life? I wish grandfathah could have a slice of that 
beautiful custa’d with the meringue on top. He’d 
think Mom Beck made it, and he’d nevah believe, 
unless he saw it with his own eyes, that I could 
make such darling cross-bahs as are on that cherry 
taht.” 

“ I wish you’d listen ! ” cried Phil. “ Don’t you 
know that proverb about letting another man praise 
thee, and not thine own mouth ? ” 

“ I’m not praising me” retorted Lloyd. “ I’m 
just praising my pies, and if they’re good, and I 
know they’re good, why shouldn’t I $ay so ? They’re 
the first I evah made, and I think I have a right to 
be proud of their turning out so well. Of co’se they 
wouldn’t have been this nice if Aunt Emily hadn’t 
showed me what to do.” 

“ Let’s sample them now,” proposed Jack, who 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 22 ? 

had been called in from the wood-pile to pay his 
respects to the pastry. 

Lloyd threw herself between the table and Jack 
with a little scream of remonstrance, as he advanced 
threateningly with a knife. 

“ I believe Lloyd is prouder of making those old 
pies than she was of shooting the duck. Confess, 
now, aren’t you?” he insisted. 

“ Yes, I am,” she answered, emphatically. 

“ You had your picture taken with a duck,” sug- 
gested Phil. “ Suppose you have one now with 
the pies to add to your collection. Come on and 
get your camera, and Fll take a companion piece 
to the hunting-picture. We’ll call this the ‘ Queen 
of Tarts.’ Stand out back of the tent, and hold 
the custard pie in one hand, and the cherry tart in 
the other.” 

With the dimples deepening in her cheeks as the 
whole family gathered around to watch the per- 
formance, Lloyd took her position out-of-doors, 
with the white tent for a background. Holding her 
hands stiffly out in front of her, she stood like a 
statue, while Jack and Joyce each brought out a pie, 
and balanced them in the middle of her little pink, 
upturned palms. 

“ I want to take two shots,” said Phil, waiting 


228 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

for them to step out of range. “ There are several 
blank films left on this roll. Now,” he ordered, 
when the shutter clicked after the first exposure, 
“ hold still, we’ll try another. Suppose you put 
the plates up on the tips of your fingers, the way 
hotel waiters do. They carry things that way with 
such an easy offhand grace. I always admired it.” 

“I should say it was offhand!” cried Jack. 
For Lloyd, obeying orders, clutched frantically after 
the cherry tart, with a shriek of dismay. It had 
refused to stay poised on her finger-tips. 

“ Topside down, of co’se,” she wailed, as the 
broken plate fell in one place, and the pastry in 
another. “ And the juice is running all ovah me, 
and the darling little cross-bahs are all in the sand ! ” 

Phil hastily clicked the shutter again. He was 
sure that the second snap had caught the tart in 
the act of falling, and with the third film he wanted 
to preserve the expression of surprise and dismay 
that clouded Lloyd’s face. It was one of the most 
ludicrous expressions he had ever seen. 

“ Pride goeth before destruction,” he quoted, 
laughingly. 

“ I wish you’d hush up with yoah old proverbs, 
Phil Tremont,” cried Lloyd, half-laughing and half- 
angry. “ It’s all yoah fault, anyway. You knew 


PHIL HAS A FINGER IN THE PIE 


229 


I'd spill that taht if I held it that way, and I just 
believe you did it on purpose. You knew when 
you first saw those pies it would be useless for you 
to try to make any dessert to-morrow that would 
half-way come up to them, and you deliberately 
planned to get them out of the way, so you wouldn’t 
have to stand the test. You were afraid you’d have 
to give the picnic you promised.” 

“ Sputter away, if it will ease your mind any,” 
laughed Phil. “ It was worth the picnic to see your 
frantic grab after that tart. But honestly, Lloyd,” 
he said, growing serious as he saw she really cared, 
“ I’m as sorry as I can be that it happened, and I’ll 
do anything you say to make atonement. I’ll with- 
draw from the contest, award you the laurels, and 
give the picnic, anyhow.” 

“ There’s nothing the matter with the custard 
pie,” piped up Norman, “ ’cept’n you can see where 
Joyce’s fingers jabbed into the meringue when she 
caught it from Lloyd. I think it would be safer 
to eat it now before anything else happens.” 

“ No, we’ll set mamma to guard it till the rest 
of the dinner is ready,” said Joyce, leading the way 
back to the kitchen. “ If everybody will fly around 
and help, we’ll have it a little earlier to-day.” 

It was one of the j oiliest meals that Phil had had 


230 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in the Wigwam. “ Let’s all go to Phoenix this 
afternoon,” proposed Phil, when they had gone 
back to the sitting-room. “We can take the films 
in to the photographer, and have them developed. 
Joyce, you may ride my horse, and I’ll get one from 
Mrs. Lee.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” cried Joyce, looking wist- 
fully through the window. “ The outdoors never 
did look so tempting, it seems to me, and those 
programmes are getting so monotonous I can hardly 
make myself go back to them. I wish I could go. 
But I can’t shirk even for a few hours, or they might 
miss getting there in time.” 

“ Couldn’t anything tempt you to go ? ” urged 
Phil. 

She shook her head resolutely. “ ‘ Not all the 
king’s horses and all the king’s men ’ could draw 
me away from these programmes till they are fin- 
ished.” 

“No wonder she preached me such a sermon on 
loafing, this morning,” thought Phil, as he rode 
away beside Jack, with the roll of films in his pocket. 
“ Anybody with that much energy and perseverance 
doesn’t need to go to the School of the Bees. It 
makes her all the harder on the drones. And I 
know that’s what she thinks I am.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 

It was nearly two o'clock next day when the 
thirtieth programme was finished and placed in 
the last row of dainty cards, laid out for the family’s 
farewell inspection. While Lloyd cut the squares 
of tissue-paper which were to lie between them, 
Joyce brought the box in which they were to be 
packed and the white ribbons to tie them. 

Jack, having saddled Washington, was blacking 
his shoes and making other preparations for his 
ride to town. A special trip had to be made, in 
order to get the package to the Phoenix post-office 
in time. 

“ They might wait until morning, I suppose,” 
said Joyce, as she began placing them carefully in 
piles of ten. “ But it is best to allow all the time 
possible for delays. Then the programmes have to 
be written on them after they get to Plainsville. 
Oh, I hope Mrs. Link will like them ! ” 

* 3 * 


232 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ I don’t see how she can help it ! ” exclaimed 
Lloyd. “ They’re lovely, and I think you’d be so 
proud of them you wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“ I am pleased with them,” admitted Joyce, stop- 
ping to take one last peep at the pretty rose-gar- 
landed Cupids ringing the bride-bells, which Phil 
had suggested. It was the best design in the lot, 
she thought. 

“ Oh, I forgot ! ” she exclaimed, suddenly, look- 
ing up in dismay. “ What shall I do ? I promised 
Mr. Armond that I’d let him see these cards before 
I sent them away.” 

“ You won’t have time now,” suggested Lloyd. 

“ I suppose Jack could wait a few minutes, but 
I thought we’d start over to Shaw’s ranch just as 
soon as the cards were off. I didn’t want to lose 
a minute in getting my hive of bees, after I’d earned 
them. It’s such a long walk over there and back, 
that I don’t feel like going to the ranch first.” 

“ Let Jack stop and show them to Mr. Armond,” 
suggested her mother. “ He’s always so careful 
that he can be trusted to tie the box up safely after- 
ward.” 

“ Oh, he’s safe enough,” answered Joyce, “ but 
he’d make such a mess of it, tying and untying the 
white ribbons on the inside of the package. He 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


233 


can’t make a decent bow to save his life. He’d 
have them all in knots and strings, and after all the 
care I’ve taken I want Mrs. Link to find them just 
as they leave me.” 

For a moment Joyce stood undecided, regretting 
her promise to Mr. Armond, and sorely tempted 
to break it. 

" He won’t really care,” she thought, but his own 
words came back to her plaintively : “ There is so 
little to interest one here, — if you don’t mind 
humouring an invalid’s whims.” 

She couldn’t forget the hopeless melancholy of 
his face, and what Mr. Ellestad had said to her 
about him : “ He’s just where Shapur was when 
the caravan went on without him.” And she re- 
membered that in the story Shapur had cursed the 
day he was born, and laid his head in the dust. 

“ I’ll go,” she exclaimed. “ Jack can follow as 
soon as he is ready, and I’ll hand the package to 
him as he passes. I’ll be back as soon as I can, 
Lloyd, and then we’ll start right over to Mr. Shaw’s. 
You explain to Jack, please, mamma, and give him 
the money to pay the postage.” 

Stopping only long enough to write the address 
on the wrapper, she hurried down the road, bare- 
headed, toward the ranch. Lloyd sat down on 


234 THE little colonel in Arizona 

the front door-step to wait for her return. Open- 
ing a book, in which she had become interested, she 
was soon so deep in the story that she scarcely 
noticed when Jack rode away, a quarter of an hour 

later, glancing up for just an instant as she waved 
* 

her hand mechanically in answer to his call. 

The kitchen clock struck half-past two, then three. 
With the last stroke came a vague consciousness 
that it was growing late, and that Joyce was long 
in coming, but the absorbing interest of the story 
made her immediately forgetful again of her sur- 
roundings. 

It was nearly four when Mrs. Ware, coming out 
beside her on the step, stood shading her eyes with 
her hand to peer down the road. 

“ I can’t imagine what keeps Joyce so long,” she 
said, anxiously. “ It will soon be too late for you 
to go to the Shaws.” 

But even as she spoke, Joyce came in sight, run- 
ning as Lloyd had never seen her run before. She 
had left the dusty road, and was bobbing along on 
the edge of the desert, where the hard, dry sand, 
baked into a crust, made travelling easier. 

“ Oh, you’ll never, never guess what kept me ! ” 
she called, as she hurried up to the door, eager and 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 235 

breathless. Seizing her mother around the waist, 
she gave her a great squeeze. 

“ Oh, I’m so happy ! So happy and excited that 
I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels. 
I fepl like a cyclone caught in a jubilee, or a jubilee 
caught in a cyclone, I don’t know which. There 
never was such glorious good fortune in the world 
for anybody ! ” 

“ Do stop yoah prancing and dancing and tell 
us,” demanded Lloyd, “ or we’ll think that you’ve 
lost yoah mind,” 

Joyce sank down beside her on the door-step. 
Her face was shining with a great gladness, and 
she could hardly find breath to begin. 

“ Oh, there aren’t words good enough to tell it 
in ! ” she gasped. 

“ Mr. Armond is an artist, mother, a really great 
one, who has had pictures hung in the Salon and 
the Academy. Mr. Ellestad walked part of the way 
home with me, and told me about him. He studied 
for years in Paris, and lived in the Latin Quarter, 
and had a studio there, just like Cousin Kate’s 
friend, Mr. Harvey. And that's the man Mr. Ar- 
mond looks like,” she added, triumphantly. “ I’ve 
been trying to think ever since I first met him, who 
I had seen before with a short Vandyke beard like 


236 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

his, and long, alive-looking fingers, that seem to 
have brains of their own.” 

“ And that’s what makes you so glad,” laughed 
Lloyd, “ to think you’ve discovered the resem- 
blance? Do get to the point. I’m wild to know.” 

“ Well, he liked my work, thought it showed 
originality and promise, and, if mamma is willing, 
he wants to give me lessons. Think of that, Lloyd 
Sherman, — lessons from an artist, a really great 
artist like that! Why, it would mean more for me 
than years of class instruction in the Art League, 
or anywhere else. He seemed pleased when I told 
him that I wanted to do illustrating, because he 
said that that was something practical, and work 
that would find a ready market. He told me so 
many interesting things about famous illustrators 
that he has known, that I have come away all on 
fire to begin. My fingers fairly tingle. Oh, 
mamma ! ” she cried, two great happy tears welling 
up into her eyes. “ Isn’t it splendid ? The story 
of Shapur is true ! For me the desert holds a greater 
opportunity than kings’ houses could offer ! ” 

“ But the price, my dear little girl — ” 

“ And that’s the best of it,” interrupted Joyce. 
“ He asked to be allowed to do it for nothing. Time 
hangs so heavily on his hands that he said it would 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


237 


be a charity to give him something to do, and Mr. 
Ellestad told me afterward, as we walked home, that 
I ought to let him, because it’s the first thing that 
he has taken any interest in for months ; that with 
something to occupy his mind and make him con- 
tented, he would get better much faster. 

“ When I tried to thank him, and told him that 
he had showed me a better way to the City of my 
Desire than the one I had planned for myself, he 
said, with the brightest kind of a smile, ‘ I expect 
to get far more out of this arrangement than you, 
my little girl. You are the alchemist whose courage 
and hope shall help me distil some drop of Content- 
ment out of this dreary existence.’ 

“ He is going to drive up here to-morrow, to ask 
you about it, and to see the work I have already 
done. I’m glad now that I saved all those charcoal 
sketches of block hands and ears and things. And 
I’m going to get out all those still life studies I did 
with Miss Brown, and pin them up on the wall, so 
he’ll know just how far I’ve gone, and where to 
start in with me.” 

“ Get them out now,” said Lloyd. “ You never 
did show them to me.” 

There was some very creditable work hidden away 
in the old portfolio, and, while they talked and 


238 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

looked and arranged the studies on the wall, time 
slipped by unnoticed. 

“ Aren’t you mighty proud, Aunt Emily? ” asked 
Lloyd, stepping back for a final view, when the 
exhibit was duly arranged. 

“ Proud and glad,” answered Mrs. Ware, with 
a happy light in her eyes. “ It was always my dream 
to be an artist myself, and now to see my unfulfilled 
ambitions realized in Joyce more than compensates 
for all my disappointments.” 

“ Phil’s coming,” called Norman, from the yard. 

“ And we haven’t started for the bees ! ” ex- 
claimed Joyce. “ It’s so late, we’ll have to put it off 
until to-morrow.” 

But all plans for the morrow were laid aside when 
Phil told his errand. He would not dismount, but 
paused just a moment to invite them to the promised 
picnic at Hole-in-the-rock. 

“ Everybody on the ranch is going,” he explained. 
“ Even Jo, to make the coffee and unpack the lunch. 
There’ll be a carriage here for you, Aunt Emily, at 
three o’clock, and you must let Mary and Holland 
stay home from school to go. No, don’t bother to 
take any picnic baskets,” he interrupted, hastily, as 
Mrs. Ware started to say something about lunch. 

‘ This is my affair. Jo is equal to anything, even 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


239 


cherry tarts and custard pies, and I must make the 
atonement I promised to Lloyd, for spilling hers.” 

Waiting only long enough to hear their pleased 
acceptance, he dashed off down the road again. 
Ever since her arrival in Arizona Lloyd had wanted 
to see the famous hole in the rock. It lay several 
miles across the desert, in?# great red butte. There 
was a picture of it in the ranch parlour, and nearly 
every tourist who passed through Phoenix made a 
pilgrimage to the spot, and took snap shots of this 
curious freak of nature. 

Climbing up the butte toward it, one seemed to 
be going into a mighty cave, but when he had passed 
up into the opening, and down over a ledge of rock, 
he saw that the cave led straight through the butte, 
like an enormous tunnel, and at the farther end 
opened out on the other side of the mountain, giv- 
ing a wide outlook over the surrounding desert. 
It was a favourite spot for picnic parties; but of all 
ever gathered there, none had had so many prepara- 
tions made for the comfort of the guests. Phil rode 
over several times; once to be sure that the wood 
he had ordered for the camp-fire had been delivered, 
and again to take a load of canvas chairs, rubber 
blankets, rugs, and cushions, so that even the in- 
valids on the ranch could enjoy the outing 


240 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

It was the first of March. Where the irrigating 
ditches ran, almond and peach orchards were pink 
with bloom. California poppies, golden as the sun- 
shine, nodded on the edges of the waving green 
wheat. Even the dry, hard desert was sweet in 
its miracle of blossoming. A carpet of bloom cov- 
ered it. Stems so short that they could scarcely 
raise the buds they bore above the sand bravely 
pierced the hard-baked crust. Great masses of 
yellow and blue, white, lavender, and scarlet trans- 
formed the bleak solitary places for a little while 
into a glory of colour and perfume. An odour, 
sweet as if blown across acres of narcissus, made 
Mrs. Ware turn her head with a little cry of pleasure 
as they drove along toward the butte the afternoon 
of the picnic. 

“ It’s the desert mistletoe,” explained Phil, who 
was following on horseback with Lloyd and Joyce 
the surrey which Jack was driving. 

“ It is in blossom now, hanging in bunches from 
all those high bushes over yonder. Mrs. Lee says 
it isn’t like ours. The berries, instead of being little 
white wax ones like pearls, shade from a deep red 
to the palest rose-pink.” 

“ How lovely ! ” exclaimed Lloyd. “ I hope I’ll 
see some of the berries befoah I go home. Oh, 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


241 


deah ! the days are slipping by so fast. The month 
will be gone befoah I know it.” 

Phil, seeing the wistful expression in the eyes 
raised to his for a moment, laid a detaining hand 
on her bridle-rein. “ Let’s walk the horses, then,” 
he said, laughingly, “ and make the minutes last 
just as long as possible. We’ll have to fill the few 
days left to us so full of pleasant things that you’ll 
never forget them. I don’t want you to forget this 
day anyhow, because it’s in your especial honour 
that this picnic is given — because you’re such an 
accomplished Queen of Hearts.” 

“ Tahts you mean,” she answered, correcting himi. 

“ Maybe I mean both,” he replied, with an admir- 
ing glance that sent a quick blush to her face, and 
made her spur her pony on ahead. 

There were more things than that fragrant, breezy 
ride across the desert to make her remember the 
day. There was the delicious supper that Jo spread 
out under the sheltering ledge of rock at the en- 
trance to the great hole. There were the jokes and 
conundrums that passed around as they ate, the 
witty repartee of the boy from Belfast that kept 
them all laughing, and the stories gathered, like 
the guests, from all parts of the world. 

“ This is the first picnic I have been to since the 


242 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

one at the old mill, when you had your house-party,” 
said Joyce, snuggling up beside Lloyd against a 
pile of cushions, after supper, as the blazing camp- 
fire dispelled the gathering shadows of the twilight. 

“ There is as much difference between the two 
picnics as there is between a cat and a tigah,” said 
Lloyd, tingling with the horror of an Indian story 
that the cowboy had just told. “ Mine was so tame 
and this is so exciting. I’m glad that I didn’t live 
out West in the times they are telling about. Just 
listen ! ” 

Phil had asked for an Indian story from each one, 
and Mrs. Lee had begun to tell her experiences dur- 
ing her first years on the ranch. No actual harm 
had come to her, but several terrible frights during 
a dreadful Apache uprising. She had been alone 
on the ranch, with only George, who was a baby 
then, and a neighbour’s daughter for company. 
They had seen the smoke and flames shoot up from 
a distant ranch, where the Indians fired all the 
buildings and haystacks; and they had waited in 
terror through the long hours, not knowing what 
moment an arrow might come hurtling through the 
window of the little adobe house, where they cow- 
ered in darkness. 

In frightened whispers they discussed what they 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


243 


should do if the Apaches should come, and the only 
means of escape left to them was to take the baby 
and climb down the jagged rocks that lined the 
walls of the well. The water was about shoulder 
deep. Even that was a dangerous proceeding, for 
there was the fear that the baby might cry and call 
attention to their hiding-place, or that some thirsty 
Indian, coming for water, might discover them. 

Mrs. Lee told it in such a realistic way that Lloyd 
almost held her breath, feeling in part the same 
fear that had seized the helpless women as they 
waited for the dreaded war-whoop, and watched 
the flames of their neighbours’ dwellings. She 
shuddered when she heard of the scene that was dis- 
covered at the desolated ranch next morning. An 
entire family had been massacred and scalped, and 
left beside the charred ruins of their home. Even 
the little blue-eyed baby had not escaped. 

As the twilight deepened, the stories passing 
around the camp-fire seemed to grow more dreadful. 
Mary was afraid to look behind her, and presently, 
hiding her face in her mother’s lap, stuck her fingers 
in her ears. It was a relief to more than Mary 
when Jo, who had been packing the dishes back 
into the baskets behind the scenes, came rushing 
into the circle around the fire so excited that, in 


244 THE LITTLE COLONEL 1 A:N NA 

his wild mixture of Japanese and broxen English, 
he could hardly make himself understood. He vas 
holding out both forefingers, from each of wl 'h 
trickled a little stream of blood. Each bore me 
gash of a carving-knife, which had slipped through 
his fingers in his careless handling of ‘t, as he kept 
his ears strained to hear the Indian stories. 

He laughed and jabbered excitedly, with a broad 
grin on his face. Finally he succeeded in making 
Mrs. Lee understand that the cutting of both fore- 
fingers at the same moment was the; sign that there 
was some extraordinary good fortune in store for 
him. It was-'.‘the luckiest thing -.that .^could have 
befallen him,' and he . declared that 1 he must go at 
once to the Chinese lottery in Phoenix. 

“If I toucha tidset* with these,” he cried, hold- 
ing up his bleeding mngers) ' ¥ : I geta heap much 
money; fo’, five double times; so much as I puta 
in. I be back fo’ geta breakfus’,” he called, sud- 
denly darting away. Before Mrs. Lee could protest, 
he was on his wheel, tearing across the desert trail 
toward ioenix like some uncanny wild thing of 
the night, 

“ The superstitious little heathen ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Lee. “ If he should win, I may never lay eyes 
on him again. He’s not the first good cook that 



•f 







A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


245 


I’ve lost in that way. I have found that, if one once 
gets the gambling fever, I may as well begin to 
look immediately for a new one.” 

“ Chris says that he has seen men lose ten thou- 
sand dollars at a time,” broke in Holland, his eyes 
big with interest. “ Prospectors used to come in 
from the mines with their gold-dust and nuggets, and 
they’d spread- down a blanket right on the street 
corner and play sometimes till they’d lose every- 
thing they had.” • 

“ It’s the curse of the West,”/Hghed Mrs. Lee. 
“I could tell ..some pitiful tales of the young men 
and boys I have known, who came, out here for their 
health, got infatuated with the different games of 
chance, and lost everything.' One man I knew was 
such a nervous wreck from the shock of finding 
himself a pauper as well as an invalid that he lost 
his mind and committed suicide. Another had to 
be taken care of in his last days and be buried by 
a charitable society, and another had to write to 
his sister that he was penniless. She sewed for a 
living, and shV sewed then to support him, till she 
worked herself ill and died before he did. He spent 
his last days in the almshouse.” 

“ We should have showed Jo Alaka’s eyes, and 
told him the Indian legend,” §aid Mr. Lllestad, 


246 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

pointing up to the stars. “ Do you see those two 
bright ones just over Camelback Mountain? Look 
up in a straight line from the head, and you will 
see two stars unusually brilliant and twinkling. 
Those are the eyes of the god Alaka. He lost them 
in gambling. An old settler told me the story. 
He got it from an Indian, and, as I read something 
like it in a Chicago paper this winter, I think we 
may be justified in believing it. At least it is as 
plausible as the old myths the ancients told of the 
stars, — Cassiopeia's chair, for instance, and Leo's 
sickle." 

“ Tell it," begged Lloyd. “ I'd rathah heah them 
than those blood and thundah Apache stories. I’ll 
not be able to close my eyes to-night." 

Every voice in the circle joined in the chorus 
of assents that went up, except Phil's, and no one 
noticed his silence but Lloyd. 

It seemed to her that he had looked uncomfortable 
ever since Mrs. Lee had spoken so feelingly of the 
curse of the West; but she told herself that it must 
be just her imagination, — that it was the flickering 
shadows of the camp-fire that gave his face its pe- 
culiar expression. He moved back into the dark- 
ness against the rock, with his hat over his eyes, 
as Mr. Ellestad began the story: 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 247 

“ Once there was a young god named Alaka 
sent by the Great Spirit to live awhile among the 
cliff-dwellers of the Southwest. Now in that coun- 
try there is a fever that lays hold of the children 
of the sun. It comes you know not how, and you 
cannot stop it. And this fever that runs hot in 
the veins of men began to course through the blood 
of Alaka, a fierce fever to gamble. 

“ At first, when men challenged him to pit his 
skill against theirs, he refused, knowing that the 
Great Spirit had forbidden it; but they jeered him, 
saying: ‘Ah, ha! He is afraid that he will lose. 
This can be no god, or he would not fear us/ So 
when they had made a mock of him until he could 
no longer endure it, he cried : ‘ Come ! I will show 
you that I am a god ! that I fear nothing ! ’ 

“ Forgetting all that the Great Spirit had en- 
joined upon him, he plunged madly into the game. 
Now the most precious thing known to that people 
is the turquoise, for it is the stone that stole its 
colour from the sky. Around the neck of the young 
god hung a string of these turquoises, and one by 
one he lost them, till the morning found him with 
only an empty string in his hand. 

“ Still the fever was upon him, and he could not 
assuage it, so he put up his shells from the Great 


248 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Water in the west. These people had heard of a 
great water many days’ journey toward the setting 
sun, but to the dwellers in the Land of Thirst it 
seemed incredible to them that there could be so 
much water in the world as Alaka told them of. 
But they looked upon the exquisite colour of the 
shells he brought, which held the murmur of the 
sea in their hearts, and counted them wonderful 
treasures. And they gambled all day with Alaka 
to gain possession of them. 

“ Still the fever waxed hotter than ever within 
him, and, when he had lost his shells, he put up 
his measure of sacred meal. When he lost that, 
they made a mock of him again, saying not that he 
was afraid to lose, but that he had no skill, that 
he was not a god. He was less than a man, — he 
was only a papoose, and that he should play no more 
until he had learned wisdom. 

“ Then Alaka w'as beside himself with rage. ‘ I 
will show you,’ he cried. ‘ I will venture suck 
mighty stakes that I must win.’ He plucked out 
his right eye and laid it where the turquoises, the 
shells, and the sacred meal had lain. But the eye 
was lost also, and after that the left eye, so that, 
when morning dawned, he staggered into the sun- 
rise, blind and ruined. 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


249 


“ Then he called upon the Great Spirit to give 
him back his sight, but the Great Spirit was angry 
with him, and drove him away into the Land of 
Shadows. And He caught up the eyes and said: 
4 1 will hang them up among the stars to be a 
warning for ever to the children of men not to 
gamble/ 

“ So they hang there to this day, and the wise 
look up, and, seeing them, pray to the Great Spirit 
to keep them from the fever; but the unheeding 
go on, till, like Alaka, they lose their all, and are 
lost themselves in the Land of Shadow.” 

That was the last story told that evening around 
the camp-fire. The moon was coming up, and Phil 
brought out Mrs. Ware’s old guitar, which he had 
restrung for the occasion. Striking a few rattling 
chords, he started off on an old familiar song, call- 
ing on all the company to join. His voice was a 
surprise to every one, a full, sweet tenor, strong 
and clear, that soared out above all the others, ex- 
cept Mrs. Lee’s full, high soprano. The Scotchman 
rumbled along with a heavy bass. One by one 
the others caught up the song, even little Norman 
joining in the chorus. Lloyd was the only one who 
sat silent. 

“ Sing,” whispered Joyce, giving her a command- 


250 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

ing nudge. Lloyd shook her head. “ It’s so heav- 
enly sweet I want to listen/’ she replied, under cover 
of the song. The music and the mountains and the 
moonlight, with the wide, white desert stretching 
away on every side, seemed to cast some sort of 
witchery over her, and she sat with hands clasped 
and lips parted, almost afraid to breathe, for fear 
that what seemed to be a beautiful dream would 
come to end. 

A tremulous little sigh escaped her when it did 
come to an end. “ It’s time to strike the trail 
again,” called Mrs. Lee. “ That is the worst of 
these outings. We can’t stay singing on the moun- 
tains. We have to get down to earth again. My 
return to valley life will take me into the deepest 
depths if Jo doesn’t come back in the morning to 
get breakfast.” 

“ Oh, it was so beautiful ! ” sighed Lloyd, later, 
when the party finally started homeward across the 
moon-whitened desert. It had taken some time to 
collect all the chairs, hampers, and cushions which 
George and Holland took home in the ranch wagon. 
The moon was directly overhead. 

Lloyd was riding beside Phil a little in advance 
of the others. “ It was the very nicest picnic I 
evah went to, Phil,” she said, “ and it’s the loveliest 


A CHANGE OF FORTUNE 


251 


memory that I’ll have to take home with me of this 
visit to Arizona.” 

“ I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he answered, taking 
off his hat, and riding along beside her bareheaded 
in the moonlight. How big and handsome he 
looked, she thought, sitting up so erect in his 
saddle, with his eyes smiling down into hers. 

“ I don’t want you ever to forget — ” he hesitated 
an instant, then added in a lower tone, “ Ari- 
zona.” 

The sweet odours of the night came blowing up 
from every direction, the ethereal fragrance of the 
mistletoe bloom, the heavy perfume of the orange- 
blossoms hanging white in distant orchards. Be- 
hind them the picnickers began to sing again, “ Roll 
along, silver moon, guide the traveller on his 
way.” 

Lloyd looked around for Joyce. She was riding 
far in the rear of the caravan, beside the carriage 
where Mrs. Lee led the chorus. Presently the old 
tune changed, and some one started the Bedouin 
love-song, “ From the desert I come to thee.” 

Looking down at her again with smiling eyes, 
Phil took up the words, sending them rolling out 
on the night in a voice that thrilled her with its 


■ 


252 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

sweetness, as they rode on side by side across 
moonlighted desert : 


“ Till the sun grows cold 
And the stars are old, 

And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold /” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 

That night there was a whispered consultation 
in Mrs. Ware’s tent while Lloyd was undressing in 
the other one. Sitting on the edge of her mother’s 
bed, Joyce rapidly outlined a plan which she had 
thought of on her way home. 

“ You see, I haven’t done anything special at 
all to give Lloyd a good time,” she began. “ This 
picnic was Phil’s affair. When I was at her 
house-party, there was something new on the pro- 
gramme nearly every day. She’s been here nearly 
a month now, and her visit will soon be over. I’d 
like to give her one real larky day before she goes. 
Mrs. Lee said that I could have Bogus to-morrow, 
and, as it is Saturday, the children will be at home 
to help you. So I thought it would be fun for Jack 
and Lloyd and me to ride over to the Indian school. 
It’s so interesting, and it doesn’t cost anything to 
get in. Then we could go on to the ostrich farm 
253 


254 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

just outside of Phoenix. Lloyd wants to get some 
kodak pictures of the ostriches. The admission 
fee will only be seventy-five cents for the three of 
us. I can pay that out of the money that Mrs. 
Link sent, and get a nice little lunch at Coffee Al’s 
restaurant, and still have enough left to pay for 
my hive of bees. We can spend the rest of the 
afternoon prowling around the curio shops and 
picture stores. Lloyd wants to get ever so many 
things to take home, — bead belts and moccasins, 
and things made out of cactus and orangewood. I 
haven’t said anything to her about it yet, but Phil 
said that if we went he would join us.” 

“ I think that is a very good plan,” said Mrs. 
Ware, entering into whatever Joyce proposed with 
hearty interest. “ You’d better not tell her to-night, 
or you’ll lie awake talking about it too long, and 
you’ll need, to make an early start, you know.” 

By half-past eight next morning the little caval- 
cade was on its way, Jack and Lloyd riding on 
ahead, and Phil and Joyce following leisurely. The 
road they took led through irrigated lands, and 
green fields and blooming orchards greeted them 
at every turn, instead of the waste stretches of 
desert that they were accustomed to seeing. 

“ I wish you’d look ! ” exclaimed Lloyd, drawing 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 


255 


rein to wait for Joyce and Phil, and then pointing 
to a field where a boy was ploughing a long, straight 
furrow. “ That’s an Indian ploughing there ! An 
Indian in a cadet unifawm, with brass buttons on 
it. Doesn’t it seem queah? Jack says it’s the uni- 
fawm of the school, and that they have to weah it 
when they' hiah out to the fahmahs. This is paht 
of their education. I like them best in tomahawks 
and blankets. It seems moah natural.” ’ 

“ This isn’t Hiawatha’s land,” laughed Phil, 
“ nor the Pathfinder’s country. I was disappointed, 
too, to find them so tame and unromantic-looking, 
but they’re certainly more pleasant as neighbours 
since they have taken to civilization. You rememr 
ber the horrible tales we heard last night.” 

Lloyd had expected to see a large school-building, 
but she was surprised to find in addition so many 
other buildings. Dormitories, workshops, a public 
hall, and the fine, wide streets leading around the 
central square gave the appearance of a thrifty 
little village. They lingered long in the kinder- 
garten, where the bright-eyed little papooses were 
so interested in watching them that they almost 
forgot the song they were singing about “ Baby’s 
ball so soft and round.” They went through the 
great kitchens, where Indian girls were learning to 


256 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

cook, and the tailoring establishment where the boys 
were turning out the new uniforms. Down in one 
of the parlours a little eagle-eyed girl, with features 
strikingly like those of Sitting Bull, practised the 
five-finger exercises at the piano. Only twice did 
they see anything that reminded them of the prim- 
itive Indians. In one of the workshops a swarthy 
boy sat before a loom such as the old squaws used 
to have, weaving patiently a Navajo blanket. And 
in one of the buildings where dressmaking was 
taught there was a table surrounded by busy bead- 
workers, working on chains and belts and gaily dec- 
orated trinkets that made Lloyd wish for a bottom- 
less purse. They were all so tempting. 

So much time was occupied in watching the 
classes in wood-carving, and in listening to recita- 
tions in the various rooms, that it was nearly noon 
when they reached the ostrich farm. It was not the 
ranch where the great birds were hatched and 
raised, but a large enclosure near the street-car 
line, where they were brought to be exhibited to 
the tourists. So, after watching the foolish-looking 
creatures awhile, laughing at their comical expres- 
sions as they tilted mincingly up and down in what 
Lloyd called the perfection of cake-walking, and 
taking several snap-shots of them, Joyce proposed 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 257 

that they should leave their horses at a corral far- 
ther down the street, and go at once for their lunch. 

It was the first time that Jack had been inside the 
restaurant, and he was glad that Phil, who often 
lunched there, was with them to take the lead. He 
felt very young and inexperienced in the ways of 
the world, as he marched in behind him, and, while 
he secretly admired the lordly air with which Phil 
gave his orders, he saw that the girls were im- 
pressed by it, too, and he inwardly resented being 
made to appear such an insignificant small boy by 
contrast. 

He had supposed that they would sit up on the 
stools at the lunch-counters which one could see 
from the street. That is where he, in his ignorance, 
would have piloted the party. But Phil, passing 
them by, led the way up-stairs. An attractive-look- 
ing dining-room opened out from the upper hall, 
but, ignoring that also, Phil kept on to a balcony 
overlooking the street, where there were several 
small tables. 

“ They serve out here in hot weather,” he said, 
“ and it's warm enough to-day, Pm sure. Besides, 
we'll be all by ourselves, and can see what is going 
bn down below. Here, Sambo ! ” 

He beckoned to a coloured waiter passing through 


258 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

the hall, and soon had him scurrying around in 
haste to fill their orders. It was the most enjoyable 
little lunch Lloyd could remember. Phil, who some- 
how naturally assumed the part of host, had never 
been so entertaining. Time slipped by so fast while 
they laughed and talked that the hour was finished 
before they realized that it had fairly begun. 

Then Phil, putting Lloyd’s camera on an opposite 
table, and focussing it on the group, showed the 
waiter how to snap the spring, and hurried back 
to his chair to be included in the picture which they 
all wanted as a souvenir of the day’s excursion. 

They made arrangements for the rest of the 
afternoon after that. Jack was to take the camera 
to a photographer’s and leave it for the roll of films 
to be developed, and then go to a shoestore and 
the grocery. Phil had an errand to attend to for 
Mrs. Lee and a few purchases to make. Lloyd 
had a long list of things she hoped to find in the 
Curio Building. They agreed to meet at a drug 
store on that street which had a corner especially 
furnished for the comfort of its out-of-town patrons. 
Besides numerous easy chairs and tables, where tired 
customers could be served at any time from the 
soda-fountain, there were daily papers to help pass 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 259 

the time of waiting, and a desk provided with free 
stationery. 

It was just four o’clock when Joyce and Lloyd, 
coming back to the drug store with their arms full 
of packages, found Jack already there waiting for 
them. He was weighing himself on the scales near 
the door. 

“ I’ve been knocking around here for the last half- 
hour,” he said. “ I’ll go out and look for Phil now, 
and tell him you are ready, and we’ll get the horses 
and bring them around.” 

“ How long will it take? ” asked Joyce. 

“ Fifteen or twenty minutes, probably. He’s 
just up the street.” 

“ Then I’ll begin a lettah to mothah,” said Lloyd, 
depositing her bundles on a table, and sitting down 
at the desk. Joyce picked up an illustrated paper 
and settled herself comfortably in a rocking-chair. 

The big clock over the soda-fountain slowly 
dropped its hands down the dial, but Joyce, absorbed 
in her reading, and Lloyd in her writing, paid no 
attention until half an hour had gone by. Then 
Lloyd, folding her letter and slipping it into an 
envelope, looked up. 

“ Mercy, Joyce ! It’s half-past foah ! What do 
you suppose is the mattah ? ” 


260 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Before Joyce could answer, she caught sight of 
Jack, through the big show-window, hurrying down 
the street by himself. He was red in the face from 
his rapid walking when he came in, and had a queer 
expression about his mouth that he always had when 
disgusted or out of patience. 

“ Phil’s busy,” he announced. “ He wants me 
to ask you if you’d mind waiting a few minutes 
longer. He wouldn’t ask it, but it’s something 
quite important.” 

“ We ought to get back as soon as we can,” said 
Joyce, “ for I’ve been away all day, and there’s 
the ride home still ahead of us. I’m afraid 
mamma will start to get supper herself if I’m not 
there.” 

“ I think I’ll put in the time we’re waiting in 
writing to the Walton girls,” said Lloyd, drawing 
a fresh sheet of paper toward her. Joyce picked 
up her story again, and Jack went out into the 
street, where he stood tapping one heel against the 
curbstone, and with his hands thrust into his pock- 
ets. Then he walked to the corner and back, and 
peered in through the show-window at the clock 
over the soda-fountain. When he had repeated 
the performance several times, Joyce beckoned for 
him to come in. 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 


26 1 


“ It’s after five o’clock,” she said. “ It must be 
very important business that keeps him so long.” 

“ It is,” answered Jack. “ I’ll go back once more, 
and if I can’t get him away, I’ll go around and get 
the horses and we’ll just ride off and leave him.” 

“ Can’t get him away ! ” repeated Joyce. “ Where 
is he?” 

“ Oh, just up the street a little way,” said Jack, 
carelessly, pointing over his shoulder with his 
thumb. 

Joyce looked at him steadily an instant, then, 
as if she had read his mind, said, with startling 
abruptness : “ Jack Ware, you might as well tell 
me. Is he doing what Mr. Ellestad says all the 
boys out here do sooner or later, getting mixed up 
in some of those gambling games ? ” 

There was no evading Joyce when she spoke in 
that tone. Jack had learned that long ago. But, 
with a glance toward Lloyd, who sat with her back 
toward them, he only nodded his reply. Startled 
by the question, Lloyd turned just in time to see 
the nod. 

“ I didn’t intend to tell on him,” blurted Jack, 
“ but you surprised it out of me. He put some money 
on a roulette wheel, and lost all the first part of 
the afternoon. Now his luck has begun to change, 


262 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

and he says he’s got to stick by it till he makes 
back at least a part of what he started with.” 

Joyce looked up at the clock. “We ought to be 
going,” she said, drumming nervously on the arm 
of her chair with her fingers. Then she hesitated, 
a look of sisterly concern on her face. “ I hate, 
though, to go off and leave him there. No telling 
when he’ll come home if he feels he is free to stay 
as long as he pleases. Goodness, Jack! I’m glad 
it isn’t you. I’d be having a fit if it were, and I 
can’t help thinking how poor Elsie would feel if she 
knew it. Lloyd, what do you think we ought to 
do?” 

“ I think we ought to go straight off and leave 
him ! ” she answered, hotly. “ It’s perfectly horrid 
of him to so fah f o’ get himself as a gentleman as 
to pay no attention to his promises. He made a 
positive engagement with us to meet us heah at 
foah o’clock, and now it’s aftah five. I nevah had 
a boy treat me that way befoah, and I must say 
I haven’t much use for one that wdl act so.” 

Presently, after some slight discussion, the girls 
slowly gathered up the bundles and walked up the 
street to the corral. Jack hurried on ahead, so that 
by the time they reached it, the men there had the 
ponies saddled and were waiting to help them. 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 


263 


mount and tie on the packages by the many leather 
thongs which fringed the saddles for that purpose. 

It was a quiet ride homeward. A cloud seemed 
to have settled over their gay spirits. Nobody 
laughed, nobody spoke much. The story of Alaka 
was still fresh in each mind, and what Mrs. Lee 
had said about the curse of the West, and the fate 
of the men she had known who had become pos- 
sessed by the same fever. 

They remembered how Jo had come in at day- 
light, red-eyed and sullen, after his night’s losses, 
for the lucky feeling which seized him at the sight 
of his cut fingers had been a mistaken omen of 
success. All that he had saved in months of serv- 
ice had vanished before sunrise in the same way 
that Alaka’s turquoises and shells and eyes had 
gone. 

Deeper than the indignation in Lloyd’s heart, 
deeper than her sense of wounded pride that Phil 
should have been so indifferent about keeping his 
engagement to meet them, was a sore feeling of 
disappointment in him. He had seemed so strong 
and manly that she had thought him above the 
weakness of yielding to such temptations. 

She recalled the expression of his face the night 
before when he drew back from the firelight into 


264 the LITTLE COLONEL IA ARIZONA 

the shadow, and pulled his hat over his eyes, as 
Mr. Ellestad began the story of Alaka. Evidently 
he had played Alaka’s game before. 

Ah, that night before! How the whole moon- 
lighted scene rolled back over her memory, as she 
rode along now, slightly in advance of Joyce and 
Jack. Phil had been with her that night before, 
and, as the sweet strains of the Bedouin love-song 
floated out on the stillness of the desert, something 
had stirred in her girlish heart as she looked up at 
him. A vague wonder if it were possible that in 
years to come this would prove to be the one the 
stars had destined for her. And, as if in answer 
to her unspoken wonder, his voice had joined in, 
higher and sweeter than all the others, as he smiled 
down into her eyes. But now — there was a little 
twinge of pain when she thought that he wasn’t 
a prince at all when measured by the yard-stick 
of old Hildgardmar and her father, much less the 
one written in the stars for her. He wasn’t strong, 
and he wasn’t honourable if he gambled, and she 
told herself that she was glad that she knew it 
And now that she had found out how much she had 
been mistaken in him, she didn’t care any more for 
his friendship, and that she never intended to have 
anything more to do with him. 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 265 

A dozen times on the way home Joyce said to 
herself: “Oh, what if it had been Jack!” And, 
thinking of Elsie and the father so far away across 
the seas, she wished that she could do something 
to get him away from the surroundings that were 
sure to work to his undoing if he persisted in stay- 
ing there. 

Supper was ready when they reached home. 
Afterward there were all Lloyd’s purchases to be 
unwrapped and admired. Mary had hoped for a 
candy-pull, as it was Saturday, and they had not 
had one during Lloyd’s visit; but the girls were 
too tired after so many miles in the saddle, and by 
nine o’clock all lights were out and a deep quiet 
reigned over Ware’s Wigwam and the tents. 

The moonlight flooding the white canvas kept 
Lloyd awake for awhile. As she lay there, listening 
to the distant barking of coyotes, and going over 
the events of the day, she heard the approaching 
sound of hoof beats. Some lonely horseman was 
coming down the desert road. She raised herself 
on her elbow to listen, recognizing the sound. It 
was Phil’s horse clattering over the little bridge. 
But it paused under the peppfr-trees. 

“ I suppose Phil has come up to apologize,” she 
said to herself, “but he might as well save him- 


266 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

self the trouble. No explanation could evah ex- 
plain away the fact that he was rude to us and that 
he gambled. I could forgive the first, but I nevah 
can forgive being so disappointed in him.” 

A moment later, seeing no light, and evidently 
concluding that his visit was untimely, he turned 
and rode back toward the ranch. Lloyd, still lean- 
ing on her elbow, strained her ears to listen till the 
last footfall died away in the distance. 

“ He’ll be back in the mawning,” she thought, 
as she laid her head on the pillow. “ He always 
comes Sunday mawnings ; but he’ll not find us this 
time, because we’ll be gone befoah he gets heah.” 

Joyce had arranged to keep Bogus part of the 
next day, so that they could ride into Phoenix to 
church. So it happened that when Phil came up 
next morning, it was to find nobody but Mary in 
sight. Mrs. Ware had gone to the seat under the 
willows to read to Norman and Holland. 

The beehive had been brought over during Joyce’s 
absence the day before, and placed in the shade 
of the bushy umbrella-tree where the hammock 
swung, and Mary was swinging in the hammock 
now, with a book Jn her lap. It was closed over 
one finger to keep the place, for she was listening 
to the droning of the bees, breathing in the sweet- 


THE LOS 7 TURQUOISES 


2 67 


ness that floated in across the desert from its acres 
of vivid bloom, and paying more attention to the 
sunny, vibrant world about her than to the hymn 
she was learning. 

“ What are you doing, Mary ? ” he called, as his 
step on the bridge made her look around. She held 
up a battered old volume of poems, and moved 
over in the hammock to make room for him beside 
her. 

“ Fm learning a hymn. That’s the way we al- 
ways earned our missionary money back in Kansas. 
I’m going to Sunday school with Hazel and George 
this afternoon in the surrey over to the schoolhouse. 
Her uncle has one there. I didn’t have any pen- 
nies to take, so mamma said I could begin learning 
hymns again, as I used to do back home.” 

As usual Mary rattled on, scarcely pausing to 
take breath or give her listener a chance to make 
reply. 

“ This isn’t one of the singing hymns, the kind 
they have in church. It’s by Isaac Watts. I like 
it because it’s about bees, and it’s so easy to say : 

*' 1 How doth the little bus^ bee 
Improve each shining hour, 

And gather honey all the day 
From every opening flower.* 


268 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“Joyce picked it out for me, and said that she 
guessed that Isaac Watts must have gone to the 
School of the Bees himself, and that was where 
he learned that ‘ Satan finds some mischief still for 
idle hands to do/ The bees hate idle hands, you 
know, that’s the drones, and, although they are 
patient with them longer than you’d suppose they’d 
be, it always ends in their stinging the drones to 
death. 

" And Lloyd said it was a pity that some other 
people she knew not a thousand miles away couldn’t 
go to school to the bees and learn that about Satan’s 
finding mischief for idle hands to do. 

“ And Joyce said yes, it was, for it was too bad 
for such a fine fellow to get into trouble just be- 
cause he was a drone, and had no ambition to make 
anything of himself. And I asked them who they 
meant, but they just laughed at each other and 
wouldn’t tell me. I don’t see why big girls always 
want to be so mysterious about things and act as 
if they had secrets. Do you?” 

“ No, indeed ! ” answered Phil, in his most sym- 
pathetic manner. He stooped and picked a long 
blade of grass at hk feet. 

“ And Joyce said that if Alaka had gone to 
school to the bees, he wouldn’t have lost his eyes, 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 269 

and Lloyd said that if somebody kept on, he would 
lose at least his turquoises. When I asked her what 
she meant, she said, oh, she was just thinking of 
what Mr. Ellestad told at the picnic, that the In- 
dians thought the turquoises were their most pre- 
cious stones because they stole their colour from 
the sky, and she called turquoise the friendship 
stone because it was true blue.” 

Phil began whistling softly, as he pulled the blade 
of grass back and forth between his fingers. 

“ So they think that somebody is like Alaka, do 
they ? ” he asked, presently, “ in danger of losing 
his turquoises, his friendship stones. Well, I can 
imagine instances when that would be as bad for 
Alaka as losing his eyes.” 

Phil had walked up to the Wigwam more buoy- 
antly than usual that morning. He knew that he 
owed the girls an apology for not meeting them as 
he had promised, and he was prepared to make it 
so penitently and gracefully that he was sure that 
they would accept his excuses without a question. 
The big roll of bills in his pocket, which he had won 
by a lucky turn of the wheel, did not lie heavy 
on his conscience at all. It rather added to his buoy- 
ance of spirit, for it was so large that it would 
enable him to do several things he had long wished 


270 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

to do. Because of it, too, he had come up to plan 
another picnic, this time an excursion to Paradise 
Valley on the other side of Camelback. 

But Mary’s report of the conversation which had 
puzzled her gave him an uncomfortable feeling*. 
He could not fail to understand its meaning. Evi- 
dently the girls knew what had detained him in 
town and were displeased with him. 

“ Oh, aren’t you going to stay for dinner ? ” 
asked Mary, as he slowly rose and stretched him- 
self. “ It’s Sunday, you know, and we always ex- 
pect you on Sunday.” 

“ No, thank you,” he answered, yawning. “ I’ve 
changed my programme to-day.” 

“ Aren’t you coming back this afternoon?” she 
asked, anxiously. “ They’ll all be home then.” 

He studied the distant buttes a moment before he 
answered, then squared back his shoulders in a de- 
cided way, settling his hat firmly on his head. 

“ No,” he answered, finally, “ I promised a fel- 
low I met in town at the hotel the other day that 
I’d ride over and see him soon. He has a camp 
over on the other side of Hole-in-the-Rock, with 
an old duffer that’s out here for rheumatism. I 
took a fancy to the fellow the minute I saw him, 
and it turns out that he’s the cousin of a boy I 


THE LOST TURQUOISES 


271 


knew at military school. It’s funny the way you 
run across people that way out here.” 

One of Phil’s greatest charms to Mary was the 
deferential way he had of talking to her as if she 
were his age, and taking the trouble to explain his 
actions. Now, as he turned away, with a pleasant 
good morning, it was with as polite a lifting of his 
hat as if she had been nineteen instead of nine. 

She watched him swing down the road with his 
quick, military step, never dreaming in her unsus- 
pecting little heart that he was the mysterious per- 
son who, the girls wished, could learn about Satan 
and the work he finds for idle hands. Nor did 
she dream that the words she had so innocently 
repeated were still sounding in his ears : “ If some- 
body keeps on, he’ll at least lose his turquoises. 
It’s the friendship stone — true blue ! ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


LOST ON THE DESERT 

If Washington had not lost a shoe on the way 
home from church, and if Joyce had not been seized 
with a violent headache that sent her to bed with 
a bandage over her eyes, the day would have ended 
far differently for Lloyd. 

The afternoon went by quickly, for, lulled by 
the drowsy hum of the bees, she had fallen asleep in 
the hammock under the umbrella-tree, and slept 
a long time. Then supper was earlier than usual, 
as Jack wanted his before starting to the ranch. 
Chris, the Mexican, was taking a holiday, and had 
offered Jack a quarter to do the milking for him that 
evening. Holland strolled down the road with him, 
since the lost horseshoe prevented him taking the 
ride he had expected to enjoy. 

Scarcely were they out of sight when an old 
buggy rattled up from the other direction, bringing 
a woman and her two little girls from a neighbour- 
272 


LOST ON THE DESERT 


273 


ing ranch for an evening visit. Lloyd, who was on 
her way to the tent to see if she could do anything 
for Joyce’s comfort, heard a voice which she recog- 
nized as Mrs. Shaw’s, as the woman introduced her- 
self to Mrs. Ware. 

“ I’ve been planning to get over here ever since 
you came,” she began, “ and specially since I got 
acquainted with your daughter over them bees, but 
’pears like there’s nothing in life on week-days but 
work; so this evening, when my little girls begged 
to come over and see your little girl, says I to my- 
self, it’s now or never, and I just hitched up and 
came.” 

“ Oh, deah ! ” sighed Lloyd. “ I don’t want to 
spend the whole evening listening to that tiahsome 
woman. The boys are gone, and Joyce’s head aches 
too bad for her to talk. I don’t know what to 
do.” 

She stepped softly into the tent, insisting on 
rubbing Joyce’s head, or doing something to make 
her more comfortable, but Joyce sent her away, 
saying that the pain was growing less, and that she 
didn’t want her to stay shut up in the tent that 
smelled so strongly of the camphor she had spilled. 

Lloyd turned away and wandered down to the 
pasture bars, where she stood looking over toward 


274 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

the west. The sun was dropping out of sight. For 
the first time since she had come to the Wigwam 
she felt lonesome. She was so full of life after her 
long sleep, so fresh and wide-awake, that she looked 
around her restlessly, wishing that something ex- 
citing would happen. She was in the mood to en- 
joy an adventure of some kind, no matter what. 

While she stood there, her pony, who had often 
been coaxed up to the bars for sugar, now came up 
through curiosity, evidently wondering at her si- 
lence. “ Come on, old boy,” she said, reaching 
through the bars to grasp the rope that trailed from 
his neck. “ You’ve settled it. We’ll go off and 
have a ride togethah.” 

With some difficulty, she saddled him herself, 
and then because she did not want to disturb Joyce 
by going back to the tent to change her white dress 
for her divided skirt, she mounted as if the cross- 
saddle were a side-saddle, and rode slowly out of 
the yard bareheaded. 

Mrs. Ware fluttered her handkerchief in response 
to the wave of Lloyd’s hand, and looked after her 
as she took the road to the ranch. “ She’s going 
to see Mrs. Lee,” she thought, and then turned her 
attention to her talkative visitor. 

It was merely from force of habit that Lloyd 


LO^f ON THE DESERT 


275 


had taken the ranch road. She was in sight of the 
camp before she became aware of where the pony 
was carrying her. 

Then she turned abruptly, hardly knowing why 
she did so. Phil was at the ranch. She would 
not have him think that she had gone down with 
the hope of seeing him. She did not put the thought 
into words, but that is what influenced her to turn. 
In front of her Camelback Mountain loomed up, 
looking larger and more lifelike than usual, with 
the reflected light of the sunset lying rosy red on 
its summit. She knew that there is something ex- 
tremely deceptive in the clear Arizona atmosphere, 
and had been told that the distance to the moun- 
tain was over five miles. But it was hard to be- 
lieve. It looked so near that she was sure that 
she could reach it in a few minutes’ brisk ride, — 
that she could easily go that far and back before 
daylight was entirely gone. 

An old game that she had played at the Cuckoos’ 
Nest sent a verse floating idly through her memory: 

“ How many miles to Barley-bright ? ” 

“ Three score and ten ! ” 

« Can I get there by candle light ? ” 

“ Yes, if your legs are long and light — 

There and back again / 

Look out / The witches will catch you / ” 


276 THE LITTLE COLONEL II l\ ARIZONA 

With somewhat of the same eerie feeling that had 
affected her when she joined in the game with 
Betty and the little Appletons, she turned the pony 
into the narrow trail that led across the sand in and 
out among the sage-brush. Later, those same gray 
bushes might look startlingly like witches reaching 
up out of the gloaming. 

“ It’s a good thing that yoah legs are long and 
light, ” she said to the pony, as he started off with 
a long, rabbit-like lope. “ And it's a good thing 
that you seem as much at home heah as Br'er Rabbit 
was in the brush-pile when Br'er Fox threw him in 
for stealing his buttah. I’m glad it isn't old Tar 
Baby that I’m on. He wouldn't be used to these 
gophah holes, and would stumble into the first one 
we came to. Oh, this is glorious ! ” 

She shook back her hair as the soft, orange-per- 
fumed breeze blew it about her face. Her full 
white sleeves fluttered out from her arms. Again 
she had that delightful sense of birdlike motion, 
of free, wild swinging through space. On and 
on they went, never noticing how far they had trav- 
elled or how dark it was growing, till suddenly she 
saw that she was not on any trail. A thick growth 
of stubby mesquit bushes made almost a thicket 
in front of her. An enormous cactus, thirty feet 


EOST ON THE DESERT 277 

high, stood in her way like one of the Barley-bright 
witches. From its thorny trunk stretched two great 
arms, thrown up as if to ward off her coming. 
Its resemblance to a human figure was uncanny, and 
she stood staring at it with a fascinated gaze. 

“ It’s big enough to be the camel-drivah of the 
camel in the mountain/’ she said in a half-whisper 
to the pony. Then looking on toward the moun- 
tain, she realized that she had to strain her eyes 
to see it through the rapidly gathering gloom. 
Night had fallen suddenly, and the mountain seemed 
farther away than when she started. 

“ Oh, it will be black night befoah we get home/’ 
she thought, turning in nervous haste. Then a new 
trouble confronted her. She was facing a dim, 
trackless wilderness, and she did not know how 
to get home. She had kept the mountain steadily 
in view as she rode toward it, but now she realized 
that it was so large that she could easily do that, 
and still at the same time go far out of her course. 

“ You’ll have to find the way home,” she said, 
helplessly, to the pony, failing to remember that 
the Wigwam pasture had been his home for only 
a few weeks, and that, left to himself, he would go 
directly to his native ranch. 

In a few minutes Lloyd found herself carried 


2J$ THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

ale lg a narrow road, not more than a wagon 
track. While she knew that she had never been 
over it before, it was some comfort to find that 
she was on a human thoroughfare, and not lost 
among the tracks of wandering coyotes and jack- 
rabbits. 

The pony, feeling that he was headed toward 
his own home, went willingly enough, and Lloyd 
began to enjoy er adventure. 

“ How exciting it will sound back ; n that tame 
little Valley, ,, she thought. “ los‘ in the desert! 
Til give the girls such a thrilling description of 
it that they’ll feel ccld chills running up and down 
tfieir spines. It’s a wondah that the cold chills 
don’t run up and down me! But I’m not one bit 
afraid now. This road is bound to lead to some- 
body’s house, and everybody is so friendly out heah 
in the West that whoevah finds me will take me 
home.” 

The pony swung along a few rods farther, then, 
startled by an owl rising suddenly out of the way- 
side bushes with a heavy flopping of wings, jumped 
sideways with such a start that Lloyd was almost 
thrown from her seat. It was an in^cure one at 
best, and she was about to throw her foot over 
into the other stirrup when a forward plunge sent 



“ CLATTERING- DOWN THE ROAD AS FAST AS HIS FEET 


COULD CARRY HIM 



LOST ON THE DESERT 2/9 

the pony into a gopher hole, and Lloyd over his 
head. 

When she picked herself up from the ad and 
looked dizzily around, . she gave a little gasp- of 
horror. The pony, freed of his burden and spurred 
on by his fright, was clattering down the road 
as fast as his feet could carry him, and she was 
left helpless in what seemed to her the very heart 
of the great, desolate desert. She stood motion- 
less till the last lAnt thud the pony's hoofs died 
away down the road v Tr she 1 >oked around her 
and shivered. The possibility of the pony’s not 
going straight to the Wigwam had not yet occurred 
to her, but she felt that under any circumst? ’"es 
she was doomed to stay in the desert until morning. 
They would be badly lightened • at the Wigwam, 
and would rouse the rancli to send out a se' ’"Ting- 
party, but they might as well look for a xieedle in 
a haystack as to make an attempt to find her in 
the darkness. She did not know where she was 
herself. She was within a stone’s thro of one 
of the buttes, out which one she couh i.ot tell. 
She stood peering around her through the twilight 
with eager, dilated eyes. A twig crackled near 
her, trampled underfoot by some little wild crea- 
ture as startled as she. The desert had seemed 


2 SO THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

so still before, but now it was full of strange whis- 
perings and rustlings. Remembering what Jack 
had told her when he showed her the nest shared 
by snakes and owls, she dared not sit down for 
fear some snake should come crawling out of the 
hole from which the owl had flown. She felt that 
it would be useless to walk on, since every step 
might be carrying her farther away from the Wig- 
wam. 

How long she stood there in the road she could 
not tell, but presently it seemed to her that it was 
growing lighter. She could see the outlines of 
the butte more distinctly, and the sky behind it 
was growing gradually luminous. Then she re- 
membered that the moon would be up in a little 
while, and her courage came back as she stood and 
waited. When its round, familiar face came peep- 
ing up over the horizon, she felt as if an old friend 
were smiling at her. 

“ I’m neahly as glad to see you as if you were 
one of the family/’ she said, aloud, with a little 
sob in her throat. The feeling that this was the 
same moon that had looked down on her through the 
locusts, all her life, and had even peeped through 
the windows and seen Mom Beck rocking her to 


LOST ON THE DESERT 


281 


sleep in her baby days, gave her a sense of com- 
panionship that was wonderfully comforting. 

It was tiresome standing in the road, and, as she 
dared not sit down and risk finding snakes, she de^- 
cided to climb up the side of the butte and look 
out over the country. Maybe she might see the 
light from some ranch house. At least on its rocky 
slope she would be freer from snakes than down 
among the bushes and the owls’ nests. 

Scrambling over a ledge of rock she stumbled 
upon a pile of tin cans and broken bottles, which 
told of many past picnic parties near that spot. A 
little higher up she clasped her hands with a cry of 
pleased recognition. She was at the beginning of 
the great hole that led through the rock. Only two 
nights before she had sat on that very boulder, and 
Speared olives out of a bottle with a hat-pin. There 
were their own sardine cans, and the fragments of 
the teacup Hazel had dropped. A mound of ashes 
and some charred sticks marked the spot where the 
camp-fire had blazed. 

She looked around, wondering if by some happy 
chance Jo could have left any matches. A brilliant 
idea had come to her of lighting a bonfire. She knew 
that it could be seen from the ranch, and would 


282 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

draw attention to her at once. A long search failed 
to show any stray matches, and she wondered if 
she could find flint among the rocks, or how long 
it would take to get fire by rubbing two sticks to- 
gether. 

Some of the gruesome tales of Apache warfare 
that had been told around the fire came back to her 
as she stood looking at the ashes, but she resolutely 
turned her thoughts away from them, to the Indian 
school she had seen the day before. It was won- 
derfully comforting to think of that little Indian 
girl at the piano, patiently practising her five-finger 
exercises, and of the Indian boy in the brass-but- 
toned uniform ploughing in the fields. It made them 
seem so civilized and tame. The time of tomahawks 
and tortures was long past, she assured herself, and 
there was not nearly so much to fear from the peace- 
ful Pimas and Maricopas as there was sometimes 
from the negroes at home. 

So, quieting herself with such assurances, she 
climbed up to a comfortable seat on a rock, where 
she could lean back against the cavelike wall, and 
sat looking out through the great hole, as the moon 
rose higher and higher in the heavens. Half an 
hour slipped by in intense silence. Then her heart 
gave a thump of terror, so loud that she heard the 


LOST ON THE DESERT 283 

beating distinctly. There was a fierce, hot roaring 
in her ears. 

Down at the foot of the butte, going swiftly along 
with moccasined tread, was a stalwart Indian. Not 
one of the peaceful Pimas she had been accustomed 
to seeing, but a cruel-mouthed, eagle-eyed Apache. 
At least he looked like the pictures she had seen 
of Apaches. 

He had a lariat in his hand, and he stooped sev- 
eral times to examine the tracks ahead of him, as 
if following a trail. Instantly there flashed into 
Lloyd’s mind what Mrs. Lee had told them about 
the Indians allowing their ponies to run loose on 
the desert. Sometimes the settlers’ children used 
to catch them, and keep them all day to ride. But 
woe be it, she said, if the owner tracked his pony 
to a settler’s house before it was turned loose. He 
always took his revenge. Lloyd was sure that this 
was what the Indian was after, as she noticed the 
lariat, and the way his keen eyes followed the trail. 
She almost held her breath as she waited for him 
to pass on. But he did not pass. 

Throwing up his head he looked all around, and 
then, leaving the trail, started swiftly up the butte 
toward her. Almost frozen with fear, Lloyd drew 
back into the shadow, and, rolling over the ledge, 


284 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

drew herself into as small a space as possible, 
crouching down to hide her white dress. Through 
a crevice between the rocks she watched his ap- 
proach with wide, terrified gaze, sure that some 
savage instinct, like a bloodhound’s sense of smell, 
had warned him of her presence. 

For an instant, as he reached the remains of the 
camp-fire, he stood motionless, looking out across 
the country, silhouetted darkly against the sky, like 
the head on the leather cushion she was taking 
home to her grandfather, she thought, or rather 
that she had intended to take. Maybe she would 
never live to see her home again. 

She crouched still closer against the rock, rigid, 
tense, scarcely breathing. With a grunt the Indian 
stooped, and began poking around among the scraps 
left by the picnickers. He turned the blackened 
brands with his foot, then moved farther along, 
attracted by the gleam of a bit of broken bottle. 
Evidently the coyotes had been there before him, 
for not a scrap was left of sandwiches or chicken 
bones ; but, like the coyotes, he knew from past ex- 
periences that it was profitable to prowl where pic- 
nics were almost weekly occurrences. 

The gleam of something steely and bright caught 
his eye. Lloyd saw the object flash in the moon- 


LOST ON THE DESERT 


285 


light as he picked it up. It was the carving-knife 
Jo had dropped in his excitement, when he found the 
“ lucky cuts ” on his forefingers. With another 
grunt he turned it this way and that, examined the 
handle and tried the edge, and then looked stealthily 
around. Lloyd closed her eyes lest the very in- 
tensity of their gaze should draw him to her hiding- 
place. She knew that another step or two would 
bring him to higher ground, where he could look 
over the ledge and see her. 

How she ever lived through the moments that 
followed, she never knew. It seemed to her that her 
heart had stopped beating, and she was growing 
clammy and faint. It could not have been more 
than a few minutes, but it seemed hours to her, 
when, the suspense growing unbearable, she opened 
her eyes, and peered fearfully through the crack 
again. 

He had disappeared. Trembling so that she could 
scarcely stand, she ventured, little by little, to raise 
herself until she could look over the rock. Then 
she saw him moving leisurely down the path at the 
foot of the butte. In a moment more he had reached 
the road, and, striding along, he grew smaller and 
smaller to her sight till he disappeared among the 
dark patches of sage-brush. 


286 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

Lloyd sank limply down among the rocks again, 
so exhausted by the nervous strain that the tears 
began to come. The night was passing like a hid- 
eous dream. Half an hour went by. She could 
hear the distant barking of coyotes, and a nervous 
dread took possession of her, a fear that their long, 
gaunt forms might come sneaking up the path after 
awhile in search of other picnic leavings. She eyed 
the swaying shadows apprehensively. 

Presently, as she sat and watched, tense and 
alert, she saw some one coming along the wagon 
track far below. He was on horseback, and riding 
slowly, as if enjoying the calm beauty of the night. 
She could hear him whistling. As he reached the 
foot of the butte the whistling changed to singing. 
The full, strong voice that rang out on the death- 
like stillness was wonderfully rich and sweet: 

“ From the desert I come to thee ! ” 

It was the Bedouin song. Lloyd listened wonder- 
ingly, her lips half-open. Was this part of the 
dream? she asked herself. Part of the strange, 
unreal night? That was certainly Phil’s voice, and 
yet it was past belief that he should be riding by 
this out-of-the-way place at such an hour of the 
night. But there was no mistaking the voice, nor 


LOST ON THE DESERT 2 8 / 

the song that had been haunting her memory for 
the last two days: 

“ Till the sun grows cold, 

And the stars are old.” 

Lloyd hesitated no longer. Scrambling up from 
the rocks, she went running down the steep path, 
calling at the top of her voice, “ Phil ! Oh, Phil ! 
Wait! ” 

It was Phil’s turn to think he was dreaming. 
Flying down the path with her white dress flutter- 
ing behind her in the moonlight, and her long, fair 
hair streaming loosely over her shoulder, Lloyd 
looked more wraithlike than human, and to be con- 
fronted by such a figure in the heart of a lonely 
desert was such a surprise that Phil could scarcely 
believe that he saw aright. 

A moment more, and with both her cold, trem- 
bling little hands in his big warm ones, Lloyd was 
sobbing out the story of her fright. The reaction 
was so great when she found herself in his protect- 
ing presence, that she could not keep back the tears. 

He swung her up into his saddle in the same 
brotherly way he had lifted Mary into the cart, the 
day he found her running home from school, and 
proceeded to comfort her in the same joking fashion. 


288 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

“ This is the second time that I have been called 
on to play the bold rescuer act. I’ll begin to think 
soon that my mission in life is to snatch fair 
maidens from the bloody scalpers of the plains.” 
Then more gently, as he saw how hard it was for 
her to control herself, he spoke as he often spoke 
to Mary: 

“ There, never mind, Lloyd. Don’t cry. It’s all 
right, little girl. We’ll soon be home. It’s only 
a few miles from here. It isn’t as late as you think 
— only half-past eight.” 

Slipping his watch back into his pocket, he began 
to explain how he happened to be passing. He had 
stayed to supper at the camp where he had gone 
to call on his new acquaintance, and had purposely 
waited for the moon to come up before starting 
home. 

He had put the rein into her hands at first, but 
now, taking it himself, he walked along beside her, 
leading the horse slowly homeward. With the 
greatest tact, feeling that Lloyd would gain her 
self-possession sooner if he did not talk to her, he 
began to sing again, half to himself, as if unmindful 
of her presence, and of the little dabs she was mak- 
ing at her eyes with a wet handkerchief. 


LOST ON THE DESERT 289 

“ Maid Elsie roams by lane and lea.” It was the 
song that his old English nurse had sung: 

“ Kling ! lang ! ling ! 

She hears her bonny bride-bells ring.” 

When he had sung it through, Lloyd’s handkerchief 
was no longer making hasty passes at her eyes. 

“ I wonder what my little sister Elsie is doing 
to-night,” he said. “ That song always makes me 
think of her.” 

“ Tell me about her,” said Lloyd, who wanted a 
little more time to regain her composure. He under- 
stood why she asked, and began to talk, simply to 
divert her mind from her recent fright. But pres- 
ently her eager questions showed that she was in- 
terested, and he talked on, feeling that it was good 
to have such an appreciative listener. He began 
to enjoy the reminiscences himself, and as he talked, 
the old days seemed to draw very near, till they 
gave him a homesick feeling for the old place that 
would never welcome him again. It had gone to 
strangers, he told her, and Aunt Patricia was dead. 

“ Poor old Aunt Patricia,” he added, after laugh- 
ing over one of the pranks they had played on her. 
“ She never did understand boys. We tried her 
patience terribly. She did the best she could for 


290 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

us, but I’ve often thought how different it would 
have been if my mother had lived. I had a letter 
from Daddy to-day, in answer to the one I wrote 
about leaving school. It broke me all up. Made 
me think of the time when I was a little fellow, and 
he rocked me to sleep one night when I had been 
naughty, and explained why I ought to be a good 
boy. It almost made me wish I could be a little 
kid again,, and curl up in his arms, and tell him I 
was sorry, and would turn over a new leaf.” 

Lloyd liked the affectionate, almost wistful way 
in which he spoke of his father as Daddy. What- 
ever indignation she had felt toward him was wiped 
away by those confidences. And when he apolo- 
gized presently, in his mdst winning way, for not 
keeping his engagement, and told her frankly what 
had prevented, she liked him better than she had 
done before. She wondered how' it could be so, 
but she felt now that she knew him as well as Mal- 
colm or Rob, and that their friendship was not the 
growth of a Jew weeks, but that it reached back to 
the very beginning of things. 

“ You can’t imagine what a fascination there is 
in seeing that roulette wheel whirl around,” he said, 
“ but I’m done with that now. Daddy’s letter set- 
tled the question. And even if that hadn’t come, 


LOST ON THE DESERT 


29I 


I would have stopped. I don’t want to lose my 
precious turquoises — my friendship stones,” he 
added, meaningly. “ I know how you and Joyce 
feel about it. Look at old Alaka’s eyes, twinkling 
up there over Camelback. They seem to know that 
I have heeded their warning.” 

Presently, as they went along, he glanced up at 
her with a smile. “ Do you know,” he said, “ you 
look just as you did the first time I saw you, as 
you rode up to the gate at Locust, all in white, and 
on a black horse. Maybe having your hair hanging 
loose as you did then makes me think so. I never 
imagined then that I’d ever see you again, much 
less find you away out here on the desert.” 

“ It is queah,” answered Lloyd. “ I thought I 
must be dreaming when I heard you sing ‘ From 
the desert I come to thee.’ ” . 

“ And I certainly thought I was dreaming,” an- 
swered Phil, “ when, in answer to my call, you ap- 
peared all in white. You could ' have knocked me 
down with a feather, for an instant. I was startled. 
Then I thanked my lucky stars that led me your 
way.” 

He began again humming the Bedouin song. 
Lloyd, looking out across the wide, moonlighted 
desert and up at the twinkling stars, wondered if 


292 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

it was fate that had brought him to her rescue; if 
it could be possible that through him was to come 
the happiness written for her in the stars. 

“ There’s the Wigwam light,” said Phil, presently, 
pausing in his song to point it out to her. “ We’re 
almost there. I’ll never forget this adventure — 
till — ” He took up the refrain again, smiling 
into her eyes as he hummed it. The refrain that was 
to ring through Lloyd’s memory for many a year 
to come, whenever she thought of this ride across 
the moonlighted desert: 

“ Till the sun grows cold \ 

And the stars are old. 

And the leaves of the Judgment 
Book unfold / ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


BACK TO DIXIE 

There was another mark on the kitchen calendar 
now; not a red star, betokening some happy event 
to come, but a deep black border, drawn all around 
the date on which Lloyd’s visit was to end. The 
heavy black lines marked the time as only a few 
days distant. 

It was Saturday again, a week after the excur- 
sion to the Indian school. Joyce had gone down 
to the ranch, for Mr. Armond to criticize the draw- 
ings which she had made since the last lesson, and. 
Lloyd, on the seat under the willows, was waiting 
for Phil. He was to come at four, and ride over 
to one of the neighbouring orange groves with her. 

She had a book in her hand, but she was not read- 
ing. She was listening to the water gurgle through 
the little water-gate into the lateral, 'and thinking 
of all that had happened during her visit, especially 

?93 

? ' 


294 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

since the night she was lost on the desert, and Phil 
had found her. 

Monday he had spent the entire day at the Wig- 
wam, and, since Joyce had forbidden him to come 
near the spot where the washing was in progress, 
he and Lloyd had brought a jar of paste and the 
little wicker table down to this very seat under the 
willows, and had mounted all her photographs in the 
book she had bought for the purpose. There were 
over a hundred, beginning with a view of the Wig- 
wam and ending with the four laughing faces 
around the table on the balcony of Coffee Al’s 
restaurant. There was Lloyd on her pony, coming 
back from the duck hunt, and again in the act of 
dropping her cherry tart. There was Mary in the 
hammock watching the bees, Jack in his irrigating 
boots, and Holland on a burro. There were a dozen 
different pictures of Joyce, and family groups, and 
picnic groups, in which was represented every ac- 
quaintance Lloyd had made in Arizona. Turning 
the pages was like living over the pleasant days 
again, for they brought the scenes vividly before 
her. 

When the last picture was mounted, Phil pro- 
posed that they write an appropriate quotation under 
each one. So they spent another hour over that, 


BACK TO DIXIE 


295 


Phil suggesting most of them, and at Lloyd’s re- 
quest writing the inscriptions himself in his strong, 
dashing hand. Some of his apt phrases and clever 
parodies seemed really brilliant to Lloyd, and they 
had laughed and joked over them in a way that had 
ripened their friendship as weeks of ordinary inter- 
course would not have done. 

“ Do you know,” he said, when the last inscription 
was written, “ I’ve kept count, and I’m in twenty- 
five of these pictures. You won’t have much chance 
to forget me, will you ? I haven’t put my collection 
in a book, but I have a better reminder of this last 
month than all these put together.” 

Opening the little locket that hung from his watch- 
fob, he held it toward her, just long enough for 
her to catch a glimpse of her own face within it. 
Then, closing the locket with a snap, he put the 
fob back in its place. It was a picture he had taken 
of her one day as she sat on this same seat under 
the willows, watching Aunt Emily braid an Indian 
basket. He had cut out a tiny circle containing 
her head, from the rest of the group, just the size 
to fit in the locket. 

Lloyd, leaning forward unsuspectingly to look 
at it, was so surprised at seeing her own picture 
that a deep blush stole slowly over her face, and 


296 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

she drew back in confusion, not knowing what to 
say. If he had asked her permission to put her 
picture in his locket, she would have refused as 
decidedly as she had , refused Malcolm the tip of a 
curl to carry in his watch. 

But Phil had not asked for anything; had not 
said a word to which she could reply as she had 
replied to Malcolm. He had showed her the locket 
in the same matter-of-course way that Rob had 
showed her the four-leafed clover which he carried. 
Yet deep down in her heart she knew that there was 
a difference. She knew that her father would not 
like Phil to have her picture in his locket, but she 
didn’t know how to tell him so. 

It was only an instant that she sat in shy, emr 
barrass£d silence, with her heart in a flutter, and 
her eyes fastened on the book of photographs which 
she was fingering nervously. Then Jack came out 
with a pitcher of lemonade, and the opportunity to 
speak passed. She hadn’t the courage to bring 
up the subject afterward. 

“ Phil might think that I think that it means 
moah than it does,” she told herself. “ He weahs 
the pictuah just as he would Elsie’s, and if I tell 
him that I don’t want him to, he’ll think that I think 
that he cares for me the way that Malcolm does. 


BACK TO DIXIE 297 

I don’t suppose that it really makes any difference 
whethah he has it in his locket or not.” 

He did not mention it again, but it did make a 
difference. The consciousness of it embarrassed 
her whenever she met his eyes. She wondered if 
Joyce noticed. 

Tuesday he came again, and read aloud all morn- 
ing while they ironed. Wednesday he spent the 
day without bringing anything as an excuse. Thurs- 
day he rode with them over to the Indian reserva- 
tion. Her pony had been brought back to her the 
day after it ran away. When he left them at the 
Wigwam that evening he said that he would not be 
back the next day as he had to go to Phoenix, but 
that he would be up Saturday afternoon to ride with 
Lloyd to the orange grove while Joyce took her 
drawing-lesson. 

It was of all this that Lloyd was thinking now, 
as she sat under the willows. And she was think- 
ing, too, of the tale Mrs. Walton told her of The 
Three Weavers; the tale that had been the cause 
of the Shadow Club turning itself into the Order 
of Hildegarde. 

Mrs. Walton had spoken truly when she said that 
“ Little girls begin very early sometimes to dream 
about that far-away land of Romance.” Lloyd’s 






2q8 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

dreams might not have begun so soon, perhaps, had 
it not been for the meetings of the Shadow Club at 
boarding-school, when Ida Shane fired their imagi- 
nations with the stories of “ Daisy Dale ” and “ The 
Heiress of Dorn,” and made Lloyd the bearer of 
her letters to her “ Ed war do.” The unhappy end- 
ing of Ida’s romance had been a grave warning to 
Lloyd, and the story of Hildegarde in the Three 
Weavers was often in her thoughts. Part of it 
floated through her memory now, as she realized, 
with a start, how large a place Phil had occupied 
in her thoughts the last week. 

“ Hildegarde worked on, true to her promise, but 
there came a time when a face shone across her 
mirror, so noble and -fair that she started back in 
a flutter. ‘Oh, surely, ’tis he!’ she whispered to 
her father. ‘ His eyes are so blue they fill all my 
dreams ! ’ But old Hildgardmar answered her, 
‘ Does he measure up to the standard set by the 
sterling yardstick for a prince to be ? ’ ” 

“ That is just what Papa Jack would ask,” 
mused Lloyd. “ And he’d say that little girls out- 
grow their ideals as they do their dresses, and that 
if I’m not careful that I’ll make the same mistake 
that Hertha and Huberta did. Besides, there’s my 
New Yeah’s promise!” 


BACK TO DIXIE 


299 


For a moment she ceased to hear the gurgle of the 
water, and heard instead the ticking of the clock 
in the long drawing-room at Locust, as she and 
Papa Jack kept watch beside the embers, waiting 
for the old year to die and the new one to dawn. 
And in the solemn hush she heard her own voice 
repeating Hildegarde’s promise: 

“ You may trust me, fat hah, I will not cut the 
golden warp from out the loom until I, a woman 
grown , have woven such a web as thou thyself shalt 
say is worthy of a prince's wearing! ” 

A woman grown! And she was not yet quite 
fourteen ! 

“ I’ll not be the only one of all the Lloyds that 
can’t be trusted to keep a prornise,” she said, aloud, 
with a proud lifting of the head. Resolutely shak- 
ing herself free from the day-dreaming that had 
been so pleasant, she picked up her book and started 
to the house. 

Listening to Aunt Emily’s conversation over her 
stocking darning, about the commonplace happen- 
ings of the household, was not half so entertaining 
as letting her thoughts stray back to the moonlight 
ride, to the smile in Phil’s eye<$ as he showed her 
the locket, or the sound of his voice as he sang, 
“ From the desert I come to thee.” There were a 


300 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

dozen such memories, so pleasant to dwell upon that 
a girl of less will-power would not have pushed 
them aside. Even Lloyd found it difficult to do. 

“ It’s like trying to drive away a flock of cherry 
birds/’ she thought. “ They keep coming back no 
matter how often you say shoo! But I won’t let 
them stay.” 

Such a resolution was easier to make than to keep, 
especially as she was expecting to see Phil ride up 
to the door at any moment. But the time set for 
his coming passed, and when a step on the bridge 
made her glance up, it was Joyce she saw, walking 
along slowly. Usually she danced in after her les- 
son-hour with Mr. Armond in the gayest of spirits. 
To-day it was apparent that she was the bearer of 
bad news. 

“ Oh, mamma ! ” she began, dropping her sketches 
on the table, and fumbling to find her hat-pin. 
“ They’re all so worried down at the ranch, over 
Phil! Mrs. Lee says he went to town yesterday 
morning, expecting to be back in time for dinner, 
but he hasn’t come yet. Jo went in on his wheel, 
last night, and he saw him at one of those places 
where they play faro, and all those games, and he 
was so excited over his winnings that he didn’t 
even see Jo, although he stood and watched him 


BACK TO DIXIE 


301 


ever so long. This morning Mr. Ellestad went in, 
and he came across him, wandering about the streets. 
He had lost not only every cent he had deposited 
in the bank, but he put up his horse, and lost that, 
too. He didn’t have any way to get out to the 
ranch. 

“ He wouldn’t drive out with Mr. Ellestad. He 
was so mortified and disgusted with himself that 
he said he couldn’t face them all. He said his father 
would never trust him again, and that he had lost 
not only his father’s confidence, but our respect and 
friendship. He said he was going to look for work 
of some kind, he didn’t care what, and it didn’t make 
any difference what became of him now. 

“ Mr. Ellestad left him at a hotel, and he felt so 
sorry for him that, tired as he was, he rode over to 
Tempe, after he got home, to see a friend of his who 
is a civil engineer. This friend is going to start on 
an expedition next week, surveying for some canals. 
Mr. Ellestad persuaded him to take Phil in his party, 
and give him some work. Phil said he didn’t intend 
to touch a cent of his usual monthly allowance until 
he had earned back all he lost. Mr. Ellestad tele- 
phoned to him from Tempe, and he is to start in 
a few days. Mrs. Lee says that losing everything 
is the best thing that could have happened to Phil. 


302 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 


It’s taught him a lesson he’ll never forget; and 
this surveyor is just the sort of a man he ought to 
be with, — clean, and honourable, and strong.” 

As Joyce finished her excited telling with these 
familiar words, the colour that had faded completely 
out of Lloyd’s face rushed back again. “ Clean, and 
honourable, and strong ! ” These were the stand- 
ards of the yardstick that Papa Jack had given 
her. How far Phil had failed to measure up to the 
last two notches, and yet — 

Mrs. Ware finished the unspoken sentence for her. 

“ He is so young that I can’t help feeling that, 
with something to keep him busy and some one to 
take a helpful interest in him, he will turn out all 
right. He has so many fine traits, I am sure they 
will prevail in the end, and that he will make a manly 
man, after all.” 

Joyce openly wiped away the tears that came at 
the thought of this ending to their happy comrade- 
ship, but Lloyd stole away to the tent to hide her 
face in her pillow, and sob out the disappointment 
of her sore little heart. She would never see him 
again, she told herself, and they had had such good 
times together, and she was so sorry that he had 
proved so weak. 

Presently, as she lay there, she heard Holland 


BACK TO DIXIE 


303 


come clattering up on the pony, inquiring for her. 
He had killed a snake, she could hear him telling 
his mother, and had brought it home to skin for 
Lloyd. It was a beautifully marked diamond-back 
with ten rattles, and now she could have a purse 
and a hat-band, like some she had admired in Phoe- 
nix. 

Lloyd listened, languidly. “ An hour ago,” she 
thought, “ I would have been out there the instant 
I heard him call. I would have been admiring the 
snake and thanking him for it and asking a hundred 
questions about how he got it. But now — some- 
how — everything seems so different.” 

She started up as he began calling her. “ I wish 
he’d let me alone,” she exclaimed, impatiently. 
“ Aunt Emily will think it strange if I don’t an- 
swer, for she knows I’m out heah, but I don’t feel 
like talking to anybody or taking an interest in any- 
thing, and I don’t want to go out there ! ” 

The call came again. She drew back the tent- 
flap and looked out. “ I’ll be there in a minute, 
Holland,” she answered, trying to keep the impa- 
tience out of her voice. As she went over to the 
wash-stand to bathe her eyes, she brushed a maga- 
zine from the table in passing. It was the one Phil 
had brought up several days before to read aloud. 


304 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

She replaced it carefully, almost as one touches the 
belongings of some one who is dead. 

There were so many things around the tent to 
remind her of him, it would be almost impossible 
to keep him out of her thoughts. She confessed 
to herself that it was growing very hard to keep 
her Hildegarde promise. She started to whisper 
it as one might repeat some strengthening charm : 
“ You may trust me, fathah — ” She stopped with 
a sob. This sudden ending of their happy com- 
panionship was going to shadow all the rest of her 
visit. 

As her eyes met her reflection in the little mirror 
hanging against the side of the tent, she lifted her 
head with determination, and looked at it squarely. 

“ I will stop thinking about it all the time ! ” she 
said, defiantly, to the answering eyes. “ It will 
spoil all my visit if I don’t. I’ll do the way the 
bees do when things get into the hive that have 
no right there. I’ll seal it up tight as I can, and 
go on filling the other cells with honey, — doing 
things that will be pleasant to remember by and 
by. I’ll make myself take an interest in something 
else! ” 

The same spirit that looked from the eyes of the 
proud old portraits at home looked back at her now 


BACK TO DIXIE 


305 


from the eyes in the mirror — that strong, indomi- 
table spirit of her ancestors, that could rise even 
to the conquering of that hardest of all enemies, 
self, when occasion demanded it. 

Running out to the wood-pile, where Holland 
impatiently awaited her, she threw herself into the 
interests of the hour so resolutely that she was soon 
absorbed in its happenings. By the time the snake 
was skinned, and the skin tacked to the side of the 
house to dry, she had gained a victory that left 
her stronger for all her life to come. She had 
compelled herself to take an interest in the affairs 
of others, when she wanted to mope and dream. 
Instead of an hour of selfish musing in her tent, 
she had had an hour of wholesome laughter and 
chatter outside. It would be a pleasant time to look 
back upon, too, she thought, complacently, remem- 
bering Mary’s amusing efforts to help skin the snake, 
and all the funny things that had been said. 

“ Well, that hour’s memory-cell is filled all right,” 
Lloyd thought. “ I’ll see how much moah honey I 
can store away befoah I leave.” 

There was not much more time, for Mr. Sherman 
came soon, with the announcement that they would 
leave in two days. Numerous letters had passed 
between the Wigwam and the mines, so Lloyd knew 


30 6 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

what was going to happen when her father arranged 
for her and Joyce to. spend part of one of those days 
in town. She knew that when they came back they 
would find a long rustic arbour built in the rear of 
the tents — a rough shack of cottonwood poles 
supporting a thatch of bamboo and palm-leaves. 
Underneath would be a dozen or more hives, hum- 
ming with thousands of golden-banded bees. And 
for all the rest of their little lives these bees would 
spend their “ shining hours ” in helping Joyce on 
toward easier times and the City of her Desire. 

Something else happened that day while they 
were in town. Phil made his last visit before start- 
ing away with the surveying party. Nobody knew 
what passed between him and Aunt Emily in the 
old Wigwam sitting-room, but he came out from 
the interview smiling, so full of hope and purpose 
that her whispered Godspeed seemed already to have 
found an answer. 

She told the girls afterward a little of their con- 
versation. His ambition was aroused at last, she 
said. He was going to work hard all summer, and 
in the fall go back to school. Not the military acad- 
emy, but a college where he could take the technical 
course this friend of Mr. Ellestad recommended. 
Phil admired this man immensely, and she was sure 


BACK TO DIXIE 


30 7 


that his influence would be exceedingly helpful. 
She was sure, too, that he would be all right now, 
and he had promised to write to her every week. 

As Phil came out of the Wigwam he heard Mary’s 
voice, in a sort of happy little chant, as she watched 
the settling of the bees in their new home. She had 
heard nothing of Phil’s troubles, and did not know 
that he was going away until he told her. 

“ I want you to tell Lloyd and Joyce something 
for me,” he said. • 

“ Try to remember just these words, please. Tell 
them that I said : ‘ Alaka has lost his precious, tur- 
quoises, but he will win them back again , some 
day!’ Can you remember to say just that?” 

Mary nodded, gravely. “ Yes,” she said, “ I’ll 
tell them,.” Then her lip trembled. “ But I don’t 
want you to go away ! ” she exclaimed, the tears 
beginning to come. “Aren’t you ever coming 
back?” 

“ Not for a long time,” he answered, looking 
away toward old Camelback. “ Not till I’ve learned 
the lesson that you told me about, the first time I 
saw you, that day on the train, to be inflexible. 
When I’m strong enough to keep stiff in the face 
of any temptation, then I’ll come back. Good-bye, 
little Vicar! ” 


308 the little colonel in arizcna 


Stooping, he kissed her gently on each plump 
cheek, and turned hastily away. She watched him 
go off down the road through a blur of tears. Then 
she rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. He had 
turned to look back, and, seeing the disconsolate 
little figure gazing after him, waved his hat. There 
was something so cheery and hopeful in the swing 
he gave it, that Mary smiled through her tears, and 
answered with an energetic fluttering of her white 
sunbonnet, swung high by its one string. 

Joyce’s delight on her return, when she found 
the long row of hives, was something good to see. 
She could hardly speak at first, and walked from one 
hive to another, touching each as she passed, as 
if . to assure herself that it was really there, and 
really hers. . 

“ Joyce is so bee-wildered by her good fortune 
that she is almost bee-side herself,” said Holland, 
when he had watched her start on her third round 
of inspection. 

“ That’s the truth,’*’ laughed Joyce, turning to 
face Lloyd and her father. “ I’m so happy that I 
don’t know what I’m doing, and I can’t begin to 
thank you properly till I’ve settled down a little.” 

There was no need of spoken thanks when her 


BACK TO DIXIE 


309 


face was so eloquent. Even the mistakes she made 
in setting the supper-table spoke for her. In her 
excitement she gave Mr. Sherman two forks and 
no knife, and Lloyd three spoons and no fork. She 
made the coffee in the teapot, and put the butter 
in a pickle-dish. Only Mary’s warning cry saved 
her from skimming the cream into the syrup- 
pitcher, and she sugared everything she cooked 
instead of salting it. 

“ Oh, I’m sorry,” she cried, when her mistakes 
were discovered, “ but if you were as happy as I 
am you’d go around with your head in the clouds 
too.” 

After supper she said to Mr. Sherman, as they 
walked out to {he hives again,. “ You see, I’d been 
thinking all day how much I am going to ’ miss 
Lloyd, and what a Road of the Loving Heart she’s 
left behind her on this visit. ‘We’ve enjoyed every 
minute of it, and we’ll talk of the things she’s said 
and done for months. Then 1 came home to find 
that she’s left not only a road behind her, but one 
that will reach through all the years ahead, a road 
that will lead straight through to what I have set 
my heart on doing. I’m going into bee culture 
with all my might and main, now, and make a for- 


310 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

tune out of it. There’ll be time enough after that 
to carry out my other plans. 

“ To think,” she added, as Lloyd joined them, 
“ when I first came to the Wigwam I was so lone- 
some and discontented that I wanted to die. Now 
I wouldn’t change places with any other girl in the 
universe.” 

“ Not even with me? ” cried Lloyd, in surprise, 
thinking of all she had and all that she had done. 

“ No, not even with you,” answered Joyce, quot- 
ing, softly, “For me the desert holds more than 
kings’ houses could offer,” f 

The last two days of Lloyd’s visit went by in a 
whirl. As she drove away with her father, in the 
open carriage that had been sent out of town for 
them, she stood up to look back and. wave her hand- 
kerchief to the little group under the' pepper-trees, 
as long as the Wigwam was in sight. Then she 
kept turning to look back at? old Camelb^ck Moun- 
tain, until it, too, fad^d from sight in the fading 
day. Then she settled down beside her father, and 
looked up at him with a satisfied smile. 

“ Somehow I feel as if my visit is. ending like 
the good old fairy-tales . — ‘ They all lived happily 
evah aftah.’ Joyce is so happy ovah the bees ana 
Mr. Armond’s lessons. Aunt Emily is lots bettah 


BACK TO DIXIE 


31 I 

the boys have so much to hope for since you prom- 
ised to help Holland get into the Navy, and make 
a place for Jack at the mines. As for Mary, she 
is so blissful ovah the prospect of a visit to Locust 
next yeah, that she can’t talk of anything else.” 

“ And what about my little Hildegarde? ” asked 
Mr. Sherman. “ Did the visit do anything foi 
her? ” 

“ Yes,” said Lloyd, growing grave as the name 
Hildegarde recalled the promise that had been so 
hard to keep, and the victory she had won over 
herself the day she turned away from her day- 
dreams and her disappointment to interest herself 
in other things. She felt that the bees had shown 
her a road to happiness that would lead her out 
of many a trouble in the years to come. She had 
only to follow their example, seal up whatever had 
no right-in her life’s hive, or whatever was spoiling 
her happiness, and fill the days with other interests. 

“ Oh, I’m lots wiseah than when I came,” she 
said, aloud. “ I’ve learned to make pies and coffee, 
and to i’on, and to weave Indian baskets.” 

“ Is that the height of your ambition ? ” was the 
teasing reply. “ You don’t soar as high as Joyce 
and Betty.” 

“ Oh, Papa Jack, I know you’ll be disappointed 


3 I 2 THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

in me, but, honestly, I can’t help it ! I haven’t any 
big ambitions. Seems to me I’d be contented al- 
ways, just to be you’ah deah little daughtah, and 
not do any moah than just gathah up each day’s 
honey as it comes and lay up a hive full of sweet 
memories for myself and othah people.” 

“ That suits me exactly,” he answered, with an 
approving nod. “ Contented people are the most 
comfortable sort to live with, and such an ambition 
as yours will do more good in your little comer of 
tiie world than all the books you could write or 
pictures you could paint.” 

The engine was steaming on the track when they 
drove up to the station. Waffles, the coloured man 
whom. Mr. -Robeson had brought with him as cook, 
hung over the railing of the rear platform, whis- 
tling “ Going Back to Dixie.” 

“ How good that sounds ! *”• ^ exclaimed Lloyd, as 
her father helped her up the steps. “ Now that we 
are really headed for home, I can hardly wait to get 
back to the Valley and tell mothah and Betty about 
my visit. I don’t believe anybody in the whole 
world has as many good times to yemembah as 
I have. Or as many gopd times to look forward 
to,” she added, later, when, with a mighty snort- 
ing and puffing, the engine steamed slowly out of 


BACK TO DIXIE 


313 


the station, and started on its long homeward jour- 
ney. 

As they rumbled on, she began picturing her ar- 
rival, the welcome at the station, and her meeting 
with her mother and Betty and the Walton girls. 
How much she had to tell them all, and how many 
delightful meetings she would have with the club! 
Her birthday was only two months away. Then 
the locusts would be white with bloom, and after 
that vacation. With the coming of summer-time 
to the Valley would come Rob to measure with her 
at the measuring-tree, to play tennis, and to share 
whatever the long summer delays held in store. 

With a vague sense that all sorts of pleasantness 
awaited her there, her thoughts turned eagerly 
toward Kentucky. Even the car-wheels seamed to 
creak in pleased anticipation, and keep time to the 
tune she hummed half under her breath: 

« My heart turns back to Dixie, 

And I — must — go!” 


THF END. 



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charming manner. 

THE LITTLE MASTER 

“ A well told, interesting tale qf a high character.” — 
California Gateway Gazette. 

A— 6 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


DELIGHTFUL BOOKS FOR LITTLE 
FOLKS 

By Laura E. Richards 

THREE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, 12mo, with eight plates in full color 
and many text illustrations . . . . $1.35 

“ Little ones will understand and delight in the stories 
and poems.” — Indianapolis News. 

FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

A charming collection of short stories and clever poems 
for children. 

MORE FIVE MINUTE STORIES 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

A noteworthy collection of short stories and poems 
for children, which will prove as popular with mothers 
as with boys and girls. 

FIVE MICE IN A MOUSE TRAP 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.35 

The story of their lives and other wonderful things 
related by the Man in the Moon,, done in the vernjicjilar 
from the lunacular form by Laura E. Richardfs. 4 

POLLYANNA ANNUAL NO. 1 * 

Trade Mark * * ‘ * 

The Yearly GLAD Book. 

Trade — — Mark, * . 

Edited by Florence Orville. 

Large octavo, with nearly 200 illustrations, 12 in full 
color, bound with an ail-over pictorial cover* design in 
colors, with fancy printed end papers. $1.50 

“ The consents of this splendid volume are evidently 
intended to 'demonstrate the, fact that work is as good 
a glad game as play if gone about the right way. There 
are clever little drawings any one cpuld imitate, and in 
imitating learn something There are adventurous tales, 
fairy tales, scientific tales, comic stories and serious 
stories in verse and prose.” — Montreal Herald and Star, 
A— 7 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE 
RAILROAD SERIES 

t By Burton E. Stevenson 
Each large 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, 
per volume ....... $1.50 

THE YOUNG SECTION-HAND; Ok, The Ad- 
ventures of Allan West. 

“ The whole range of section railroading is covered in 
the story.” — Chicago Post. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN DISPATCHER 

“A vivadous account of the varied and often hazard- 
ous nature of railroad life.” — Congregationalist. 

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“It is a book that can be unreservedly commended to 
anyone who loves a good, wholesome, thrilling, informing 
yarn.” — Passaic News. 

THE YOUNG APPRENTICE ; Or, Allan West's 
Chum. , * 

“The story is intensely interesting.” — Baltimore Sun. 

STORIES BY 
BREWER CORCORAN 

Each, one volume, 12mo, cloth decorative, illus- 
trated, per volume . . . . . . $1.50 

THE BOY SCOUTS OF KENDALLVILLE 

Published with the approval * of “ The Boy Scouts of 
America S’ 

The story of a bright young factory worked who can- 
not enlist because, he has three . dependents, but his 
knowledge of woodcraft and wig-wagging gained through 
Scout practice enables him to foil a German plot to blow 
up the munitions factory. 

THE BARBARIAN ; Or, Will Bradford’s School 

Days at St. Jo’s. 

“This is a splendid story of friendship, study and 
sport, winding up with a perfectly corking double play.” 
— Springfield Union. 

A — 8 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL BOOKS 

(Trade Mark) 

By Annie Fellows Johnston 
Each large 12mo, cloth , illustrated , per volume . $1.50 

THE LITTLE COLONEL STORIES 

(Trade Mark) 

Being three “ Little Colonel ” stories in the Cosy Corner 
‘Series, “ The Little Colonel,” “ Two Little Knights of 
Kentucky,” and “ The Giant Scissors,” in a single volume. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOUSE PARTY 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HOLIDAYS 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S HERO 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING- 

(Trade Mark) 

SCHOOL 

SHE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHRISTMAS 

(Trade Mark) 

VACATION 

THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR 

(Trade Mark) 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S KNIGHT COMES 

(Trade Mark) 

RIDING 

THE LITTLE COLONEL’S CHUM, MARY 

WARE ’(Trade Mark) 

MARY WARE IN TEXAS 
MARY WARE’S PROMISED LAND 

These twelve volumes, boxed as a set, $18.00. 

A— 9 


THE PAGE COMPANY'S 


SPECIAL HOLIDAY EDITIONS 

Each small quarto, cloth decorative , 'per volume . $1.35 

New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page 
drawings in color, and many marginal sketches. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL 

(Trade Mark) 

TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY 
THE GIANT SCISSORS 
BIG BROTHER 

THE JOHNSTON JEWEL SERIES 

Each small 16mo, cloth decorative, with frontispiece 

and decorative text borders , per volume $0.60 

IN THE ‘DESERT OF WAITING! The Legend 

OF (pAMELBACK MOUNTAIN. 

THE THREE WEAVERS: A Fairy Tale for 
Fathers and Mothers as Well as for Their 
Daughters. ♦ 

KEEPINQ TRYST: A Tale of King Arthur’s 
Time. 

THE. LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART 
THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME: 

A Fairy Play for Old and Young. 

THE JESTER’S SWORD 


THE LITTLE COLONEL’S GOOD TIMES 
BOOK 

Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $1.50 

Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . 3.00 

Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg. 
u A mighty attractive volume in whioh the owner may 
record the good times she has on decorated pages, and 
under the directions as it were of Annie Fellows John- 
ston.” — Buffalo Express. 

A— 10 


BOORS FOB YOUNG PEOPLE 


THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK — 
First Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . . $1.50 

A series of “ Little Colonel ” dolls. Each has several 
changes of costume, so they can be appropriately clad 
for the rehearsal of any sceno or incident in the series. 

THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK— 
Second Series 

Quarto, boards, printed in colors . . ■ . $1.50 

An artistic series of paper dolls, including not only 
lovable Mary Ware, the Little Colonel’s chum, but many 
another of the much loved characters which appear in 
the last three volumes of the famous “ Little Colonel 
Series.” 

ASA HOLMES 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 4 

With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery. * 

16mo, cloth decorative, gilt top . . . $1 . 00 • 

“‘Asa Holmes’ is the *most delightful, most sympa- ■ 
thetic and whqjesome book that* has been published in a 
long while.” — Boston Times. 

TRAVELERS FIVE: ALONG LIFE’S HIGH- 
WAY 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

With an introduction by Bliss Carman, and a frontis- 
piece by E. H. Garrett. 

12mo, cloth decorative $1.25 

“ Mrs. Jolfhston broadens her reputation with this book 
so rich in the significance of common things.” — Boston 
Advertiser. 

JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE 

By Annie Fellows Johnston. 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ The book is a very clever handling of the greatest 
event in the history of the world.” — Rochester , N. Y. t 
Herald. 

A— 11 


THE PAGE COMPANY’S 


THE BOYS’ STORY OF THE ARMY 

SERIES 

By Florence Kimball Russel 

BORN TO THE BLUE 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“The ‘story deserves warm commendation and genuine 
popularity.” — Army and Navy Register, 

IN WEST POINT GRAY 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . .*$1.50 

“ One of the best books that deals with West Point.” — 
New York Sun. 

FROM CHEVRONS TO SHOULDER- 
STRAPS 

12mo, Cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“ The life of a cadet at West Point is portrayed very 
realistically.” — The Hartford Post , Hartford , Conn. 

DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL SERIES 

By Marion Ames Taggart 

Each large 12mo, cloth , illustrated , per volume, $1.50 

THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE GIRL 

“ A charming story of the ups and downs of the life 
of a dear little maid.” — The Churchman. 

SWEET NANCY: The Further Adventures of 
the Doctor’s Little Girl. 

“Just the sort of book to amuse, while its influence 
cannot but be elevating.” — New York Sun. 

IT&NCY, THE DOCTOR’S LITTLE PARTNER 

“The rtory is sweet and fascinating, such as many 
girls of wholesome tastes will enjoy.” — Springfield Union. 

NANCY PORTER’S OPPORTUNITY 

“ Nancy shows throughout that she is a splendid young 
woman, with plenty of pluck.” — Boston Globe. 

NANCY AND THE COGGS TWINS 

“ The story is ref resiling.” — N ew York Sun, 

A— 12 


BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


WORKS OF EVALEEN STEIN 

THE CHRISTMAS PORRINGER 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Adelaide 

Everhart 91.25 

This story happened many hundreds of years ago in 
the quaint Flemish city of Bruges and concerns a little 
girl named Karen, who worked at lace-making with her 
aged grandmother. 

GABtUEL AND THE HOUR BOOK 

Small quarto, cloth decorative, illustrated and 
decorated in colors by Adelaide Everhart . . $1.25 

“No works in juvenile fiction contain so many of the 
elements that stir the hearts of children and grown-ups as 
well as do the stories so* admirably told by this, author.” 

— Louisville Daily Courier. 

A LITTLE SHEPHERD OF PROVENCE 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Diantha 

H. Marlowe $1.25 

“ The story should be one of the influences in the life 
of every child to whom good stories can be made to 
appeal.” — Public Ledger. 

THE LITTLE COUNT OF NORMANDY 

12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by John Goss $1 . 25 
“ This touching and pleasing story is told with a wealth 
of interest coupled with enlivening descriptions of the 
country where its scenes are laid and of the people thereof.” 

— Wilmington Every Evening. 


THE HOUSE ON THE HILL 

By Margaret R. Piper, author of “Sylvia Arden,” 
“ Sylvia of the Hill Top,” “ Sylvia Arden Decides,” etc. 
12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . . $1.50 

“It is a bright, entertaining story, with happy young 
folks, good times, natural development, and a gentle 
earnestness of general tone.” — The Christian Register, 
Boston. 

A— 13 


PHE PAGE COMPANY’S 


HISTORICAL BOOKS 

THE BOYS OF ’ 6 l ; Or, Four Years of Fighting. 

By Charles Carleton Coffin. 

Extra Illustrated Edition. An entirely new edition, 
cloth decorative, 8vo, with nearly two hundred illus- 
trations . . . . . .» . . $2.00 

Regular Edition. Cloth decorative, 12mo, with eight 
illustrations . . . * . . . $1.35 

A record of personal observation with the Army and 
Navy, from, the Battle of Bull Run to the fall of Rich- 
mond. 

THE BOYS OF 1812; And Other Navai^Heroes. 
By James Russell Soley. 

Cloth, 8vo, illustrated k $2.00 

“ The book is full of stirring incidents and adven- 
tures.” — Boston Herald. 

THE SAILOR BOYS OF ’61, * , 

By James Russell Soley. 

Cloth, 8vo, illustrated $2.00 

“It is Written* with an enthusiasm that never allows b 
the interest to slacken.” — The Call , Newark , N. J . • 

BOYS OF FORT SCHIJYLER 

By James Otis. * 

Cloth decorative, square 12mo, illustrated . $1.25 
“ It is unquestionably one of the best historical Indian 
stories ever written.” — Boston Herald . § 

FAMOUS WAR STORIES 

By Charles Carleton Coffin 
Each cloth decorative, 12mo, illustrated; <per vol. t $1.25 

WINNING HIS WAY 

A story of a young soldier in the Civil War. 

MY DAYS AND NIGHTS ON THE BAT- 
TLE FIELD 

A story of the Battle of Bull Run and other battles in 
Kentucky, Tennessee, and on the Mississippi. 

FOLLOWING THE FLAG 

A story of the Army of the Potomac in the Civil \yar. 
A — n 








